Lab Monkey
by Tempestt
Summary: AU VB Bulma has captured Vegeta before he has a chance to escape Earth. She now has him imprisioned in her lab. What will the beautiful scientist do with the deadly prince?
1. Imprisioned

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ or Vegeta.  I think we all know what I would do with him if I did.

Lab Monkey

Chapter One

Imprisoned

He stared listlessly at the ceiling of his cell.  Twenty-four thousand six hundred and seventy-two.  That was how many tiny pinprick holes there were in the panels above his head, surrounding a single halogen tube, bracketed into the ceiling with naked metal clamps.  His cell was exactly eight and half footsteps wide and ten steps long.  He paced it everyday just to be sure that it didn't magically morph into something smaller, though his mind clamored otherwise.  It housed a solid coiled spring cot with a firm mattress, a toilet and a sink.  Nothing more, nothing less.  The walls were polished steel and if he turned his head to the right he could see his obscured reflection, a shadow of piercing raven eyes and simmering hatred.  But if he turned his head to the left…

That entire wall to his cell was nothing more than a ki dampening force field.  It was completely invisible, its presence only made known by the subtle humming that could easily be mistaken as the zing of electricity in the lighting filament.  It looked as though he could walk right through it and into the waiting arms of freedom.  Of course that was completely illusionary.  He was right properly caged.  A beast trapped behind bars.

He had rushed the seemingly nonexistent wall several times when he had first been imprisoned, but he had been thrust back forcibly, only earning the smell of singed hair as a reward for his efforts.  He had howled, he had cursed, he had threatened, but still he remained, behind the fragile wall of his sanity.

Being enslaved by Frieza was by far a better fate than this one.  While under the tyrant's command he had been able to walk around freely.  He had the ability to travel to other worlds and vent his frustration and anger on the innocent races he was sent to annihilate.  He may have been nothing more than mass murdering assassin, slaying all his master bid him too, but at least he had room to move, to breathe.

Beyond the wall lay another world filled with activity and excitement.  People constantly moved in and out, their white coats swishing behind them as they teased him with their easy departures.  They would stand just outside of his reach, jotting notes on clipboards while muttering unintelligible words under their breath before walking away.  At first they had been afraid of him, even with their barrier in place, but as the weeks had gone by that fear had diminished.

Once it had become apparent to him that he couldn't fight his way out of this new hell hole, he had tried mouthing his way out.  After he had sent several people fleeing in tears a new rule had been issued not to speak directly to him.  He continued to harass and terrorize, but soon his cutting remarks slid off the scientists like oil on water.  No one spoke to him; no one barely even dared look at him, except her.

After he discovered that his empty words cease to frighten anyone he had fallen silent, only rousing himself when she came in the room.  He began to slip into a deep depression.  He could see it within himself, growing with each passing day.  A shadow that threatened to engulf him.  A Saiyan was not meant to be caged.  They needed to be free.  To roam about, fighting, eating, and conquering. 

She was the only one who lifted the weight of his despair, but it was not light that she brought into his barren world, but something far more sinister than his ennui.  With her she brought the foul stench of hatred.  She was the reason that he was imprisoned.  She was the reason that he rotted away in this cell, day after day.  She was the one who ordered the tests and demanded that he submit to her prying eyes.  He hated her and she hated him.

He had been so close that day, so many weeks ago.  He had held Kakarot's frail body in his hands, felt his life blood seeping through his beastly fingers.  He had roared to the heavens, his fangs glistening under the hot desert sun.  He could feel the power of his Oozaru form coursing through his veins and the heady frenzy of blood lust filled him.

He held the only other remaining Saiyan close to him, that half breed freak excluded and he had inhaled the scent of sweat and blood.  A traitor to his people, to the throne and to himself, the third class should be so honored to be slain by his prince.  Once he was finished disposing of the filth that dared to call himself human, disavowing his Saiyan heritage, he intended on razing the cities of Earth to the ground, destroying everything that walked. 

Victory had been in the palm of his hand, literally, but then she had come.  He hadn't even known what had happened until days later when he woke up in this devil spawned cell.  He had felt a slight prick in his hide then a lessoning of his power.  It drained away rapidly until nothing remained, ignoring his panicked attempts to try and regain it.  He had fallen into unconsciousness as his body reverted to his humanoid form, his strength only a fading memory.

He found out later that he had made a mistake of killing the green freak, denying himself the pleasure of making a wish.  He was not unaware of the irony.  He had come to this forsaken planet to gain his freedom from a ruthless tyrant only to find himself in the tighter grasp of a heartless witch.

She claimed to be a genius and then she proceeded to prove it.  She commandeered his and Nappa's pods along with the remains of Raditz's ship, creating a larger ship from the scavenged parts.  She then sent her friends off to another world, a planet called Namek.  They would search out the original inventor of the Dragon Balls and they would make their wishes.  They would get what they wanted while he sat here, awaiting her next torturous decree.

The door to the outside world slid open to reveal the blue-haired demoness.  His piercing eyes narrowed as they followed her around the room.  While she was within his sight he never allowed her to escape his heavy glare.  He stewed in the juices of his own righteous vindictiveness.  Lavishing himself with thoughts of her screams as he punished her for all of her crimes against him, the Saiyan Prince.

She could feel his cold hard gaze on her and she had to suppress the urge to shudder.  She had learned quickly enough that showing any signs of weakness in front of the warrior was an invitation to disaster.  His biting remarks could tear down the most self confident person and his ruthless demeanor was enough to strike terror in most hearts.  The key to surviving his hostility was to coolly ignore his comments, while going about your business.  Unfortunately for her, she found that it was easier said than done.  That bastard knew exactly what buttons to push and he did so with sadistic relish.

She had first hit on the idea of ki technology when she had observed how strong Goku had become.  She had always known something was different about him and the appearance of his brother, Raditz, a year ago had proven it.  While the Z fighters had stolen away to their respective hideouts to train for the coming fight, she had spent countless hours in her lab, perfecting the idea that had run loose in her head for so many years. 

Seeing her best friend with a hole in his heart had motivated her unlike anything else in the past.  The echo of his widow's screams of denial prodded her out of her sleep at night, until she surrendered to the inevitable and put a cot in her offices so she only had to return to the main house when necessary.  In her overworked fervor she finally succeeded.  Her pride and joy was a serum she called the X factor.  Once injected into the blood stream of an attacker, it neutralized their ki in much the same way a vaccine cures a virus.  It sucked away every iota of energy they had until nothing remained, leaving them unconscious and helpless to her will.

Through Baba's crystal ball she had watched with stunned horror as her love, Yamcha was murdered by the invaders.  She sat slack-jawed while they brushed away the bullets of the army and hacked through her friends one by one, until only Krillin, Gohan and Goku remained.  Only the small one lived, but he contained more power in his compact body than all of her friends combined.  When he transformed into a giant ape, she knew that she could no longer sit idly by and watch, leaving her friends unaided.

She had popped the capsule to her air jet and raced to the desert, landing just in time to see the monster crushing Goku in his hands.  She had broken out into an instant sweat and her hands shook when she raised the rifle, carefully adjusting the sights.  She remembered the eerie sense of calm that had come over her while she targeted her enemy.  Her hands became steady and her breaths were even.  Without a shred of regret she slowly squeezed the trigger and she viciously ignored the small voice inside of her that relished his screams of pain as he shrunk down to his normal size.

Quickly, they had gathered up his prone body and transported him back to her lab at Capsule Corps.  She already had a the cell designed and thankfully he remained unconscious long enough for her to construct it.  She had felt a flutter of uncertainty when he first woke, but her craftsmanship held up to the test and he remained imprisoned.

Her eyes flickered over to his cell under the cover of her lids and her smooth brow furrowed at the sight.  When he had first come to her lab he had been bursting with life, hurling punches at her wall, nearly as fast as he was lobbing around threats.  Once he realized that he could not bust through her magnificent invention he had paced the cell like a caged panther, radiating power and virility.  As the weeks had passed she saw that energy drain away, until a listless stranger remained.

He hardly did anything more than lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.  Only when she entered did he rouse himself in the slightest.  She found herself trying to engage him in conversation, egging him on in a fight, just to see a spark in his dark eyes once again.  The dull lackluster aura that was growing around him began to disturb her and she actually began to fear for his wellbeing.  If he was to die in her care, she would be the one to blame.  That small part of her whispered that he shouldn't be so lucky to escape into death, while she had to remain here without her lover.

All she could see when she looked at him was his evil smirk as he watched Yamcha die.  He was the reason her heart ached.  He was the reason she was alone.  She hated him with such a vengeance that it had made her physically ill.  With a nod of his head he had stolen her joy and she had felt undeniable delight at the thought that she had stolen some of his happiness right back.

Goku had fought venomously against her imprisoning the prince.  He had said that it wasn't right to cage him.  She had countered with the argument that he was a cold-blooded killer.  What would he have her do with him?  Set him free and pat him on the head like a good puppy?  If he ever escaped from his cage, he would destroy the entire world and no one was strong enough to stop him.  She shivered at the thought of his maniacal laughter as he leveled one city after another in revenge. 

She shot another quick look at him, before glancing back down at her paperwork.  She saw the glint in his eyes when he stared at her.  If he ever did get out of the cell, she would be the first person he would look for.  She would not live to hear his laughter; she would already be cooling in a pool of her own blood.

Now that Goku, Krillian and Gohan had left for Namek, she felt especially vulnerable.  There were no fighters left on Earth to defend it if something heinous were to happen.  She had desperately wanted to go with them, to experience interstellar travel first hand, but her responsibilities held her here.  She was the only one who was brave enough to care for the dark prince.  She had captured him, now she had to keep him, whether she wanted too or not.

Unable to look away for long, she lifted her head once again.  This time her sapphire eyes locked with his unyielding gaze and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.  Time ceased to move and insidious, invisible tentacles drew tighter around the pair, binding them inextricably to each with every passing moment. 

Love and hate is divided by a very thin line called lust.


	2. Inhumane

Disclaimer: It's mine, all mine!  I wrote it, directed it and more importantly I made Vegeta do sexual acts in order to gain a lead role.  Then again, if the lawyers come I could always claim insanity.

A/N:  I'm so glad you guys are enjoying the story so far.  I will endeavor to do my best to satisfy you!

Chapter Two

Inhumane

The first day she did not come, he shrugged it off.  He had grown used to her daily presence, but he wasn't overly concerned with her absence.  He sat silently staring at the paneled ceiling of his cell, while his demented mind created images in the textured contours.  He relived his bloody, past battles in detail, seeing bodies as they were heaped into a pile to be burned to prevent disease for the newest inhabitants.  He saw Frieza's gapping maw as he crowed victoriously while standing over the beaten Saiyan, his tail waving maliciously in the background.  Eventually, he grew bored with that particular past time and he turned his head so he could stare at his distorted visage in the polished metal.  He glared menacingly, baring his teeth and he was momentarily reassured that he had not completely forgotten his brutal nature, but that only burned a few minutes away.

The second day that she failed to appear, his eyes hardened into gleaming onyx gems and he began to brood, dreadful thoughts swirling in his fertile mind.  He turned his black fathomless eyes onto the scurrying scientist, watching them with predatory scrutiny.  They noticed his surveillance, but they ignored the shivers of fear that scampered down their spines.  They knew better than to approach the alien in their midst.  As excited as they were at the prospect of studying a real live specimen, his hostility was a tangible thing.  It seemed that the tentacles of his seething aura could reach out and grasp you by the neck, strangling the very life from you by sheer force of will.  They had no desire to test the theory that had been hatched at the water cooler.  That the prince could kill a man with a thought, by a mere narrowing of his sadistic eyes.  He was evil, pure and unholy.  They stayed as far away as possible.

By the third day he was pacing his cage like a jungle cat.  His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides and his lips curled back from his ivory fangs.  His tail lashed violently behind him, the normally sleek fur bristling with agitation.  He began to strike out at the walls, unable to dent the smooth steel.  He howled with fury and he cursed the blue-haired witch that had ensnared him.  He vowed to destroy her and her little force field too.  The longer he stayed under the glow of her invisible wall, the weaker he became as it sucked his ki away, until he was only a shadow of his former self.  His hellish eyes skinned the helpless scientists where they stood and more than one fled the room in terror.  Towards the end of the day his deep growls and deadly snarls cleared the lab entirely, leaving him alone with his uncertain assumptions.

As the evening wore on the lighting dimmed, signifying the lateness of the day.  Only his florescent bulb remained lit as always.  If he wasn't so used to adversity he would have gone mad from the lack of rest, but as it was he had to sleep with constant light once before and he easily ignored their inconsideration.  He continued to pace, stopping every few minutes to gesture rudely at the camera.  Where was she?  Had she abandoned him?  Were they going to kill him soon?  There was no doubt in Vegeta's mind that as soon as these humans were done studying him they would dispose of him.  If the Bitch Queen had lost interest in him, then it could very well herald the end of his ill fated existence.

Frustrated, he tore off his tattered blue under shirt, still stained and torn from his last battle.  He stalked over to the sink, turning the tap on cold and began splashing his chest and face with the icy water.  His skin tightened over his muscles at the shocking cold and his pectorals flexed in response.  He heard the swish of the outer lab door and he paused in his ministrations, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see who dared to intrude on him.  He saw a flash of blue and he reared up, glaring into the darkened lab.

Bulma strode into the room, her mouth drawn into a thin line of distaste.  She had been bombarded with complaints of the Saiyan's behavior and she had come to investigate the problem.  She skidded to a stop when she saw him stand up, shaking his head like a dog, splattering water everywhere.  She watched in stunned awe as droplets, caught in the light and glittering like diamonds, rolled down his chiseled chest, accentuating every indentation of his flesh.  She had never seen a body so perfectly proportioned.  Sheer power, encased in sculpted bronze.

"Where the fuck have you been, you bitch?"  He snarled ferociously, jolting her out of her reprieve.  Her face reddened at the insult and she felt the familiar hate bubble up inside of her.

"None of your business, you asshole."  She hissed and he watched with fascination as her eyes began to sparkle with cerulean fire.  His features darkened as he observed her increased heart rate and her rapid pulse.  All were signs of deceit.

"Plotting my death, slank?"  He latched his arm up over the portal, staring intently at his newest nemesis.  She was a far more dangerous enemy than Frieza.  She would not honor him with a death in battle, but would more than likely slay him in his sleep.  Too bad he wouldn't have the pleasure of pinning her beneath him anytime soon.  His lip curled at the inane thought, showing a hint of his fangs.

Bulma felt her pulse flutter as she watched his muscles ripple across his chest when he leaned casually against the door frame.  Once again she was struck by his perfection.  A true work of art.  Yamcha had never looked so beautiful.  Her mouth tightened as her thoughts turned to her dead lover.

"Only animals bathe in the sink.  Do you drink out of the toilet too?"  Her hands clenched into tight fists as she watched him smirk at her.  He flashed his teeth, just before he turned away to pick up his shirt.

"You haven't seen fit to provide me with a bathing chamber since I got here.  As a warrior I can make do with what I have, but I have seen animals receive better treatment from their captors."  He bent over, snatching his shirt up from the ground and dropping it over his head.  He ignored her gasp, figuring he had struck a nerve with his last comment.

He turned back to see her pale face and her hand clasped over her mouth in horror.  Her wide eyes locked with his and he could see pity flickering in their depths.  He began to snarl and he advanced towards her with deadly intent, but the barrier halted his procession.

"What the fuck is your problem now?"  He rasped.  He could handle anger, hatred and even fear in another's eyes, but he would not tolerate pity.  He didn't even know what had caused such a reaction from her.  All he knew was that he wanted to wrap his hands around her fragile neck and shake the life from her for daring to express that emotion around him.

Bulma swallowed hard as she tried to calm her rioting feelings.  When Vegeta had turned his back on her, she had been able to see the numerous whip marks crisscrossing his back.  The raised welts left no spot untouched, leaving his back a mass of mutilated scar tissue.  She had never seen something so abominable in her life.  That amount of damage could only have been achieved by years of endless beatings.  She couldn't stop the compassion that rose to the surface, overshadowing her hate for him.  She saw the flash of anger in his eyes when he witnessed her commiseration and she quickly shoved it back down into the pit of her stomach.

"Yes of course.  You are right.  I had meant to outfit a larger room for you with the necessary accommodations like a shower, much earlier, but I have been working on another project."  Bulma was aghast at her lack of humanity.  She had left him to rot in this woefully inadequate cell for weeks, without even the ability to bath himself properly.  Even killers in maximum security penitentiaries received better treatment.

"Stow it human.  Let's be honest shall we?  Once you are done with your poking and prodding you fully intend to kill me.  Just admit it and get it over with."  Vegeta began to pace the room, his tail whipping madly behind him.  His helplessness was eating at him like a plague.  He had to escape, he had to get out.  He had not survived years of enslavement under Frieza's rule only to die at the whim of some she-bitch from hell.

Bulma's eyes widened in shock at his statement.  Was that that what he thought?  That they were going to kill him?  She looked down at the floor, desperately trying to sort through her jangled thoughts.  What was she going to do with him?  She hadn't given it much thought beyond stopping him from killing her friends.  Now that she had him caged she had no earthly idea as to what to do.  Was she going to be his warden for the rest of their lives?  Bulma shook her head.  She didn't have time to contemplate this now.  She was too busy to worry about it.

"No, I'm not going to kill you.  I probably should, but I could never take another's life."  Her voice was soft and he was enthralled with the soft azure of her eyes.  In all of his travels he had never seen a creature quite like her.  Well, perhaps he had, on some distant world.  Right before he obliterated it.

He snorted at her comment.  Her words were so innocent, so completely false.  There are certain truths that were universal.  It was his experience that beings liked to hurt each other.  It was a primal pleasure that many indulged in.  Secondly, no matter how peace-loving or kind, when faced with extermination even the most good-natured creature could turn on you like a rabid animal, clawing, hissing and biting.  Survival was instinctual and many would kill before being killed themselves.

"You have already taken my life!"  He flung his arm carelessly, indicating the walls to his cage.  "You are killing me slowly, every minute you leave me in this hell hole."  He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Well we can't have you running wild, now can we?  No one ever died from a little forced inactivity.  Now, once I have finished my project I will get started on your new cell, but until then you are just going to have to wait."  She was unaffected by his impassioned plea.  She would rather eat hot coals then let this mad man loose on the populace.  He was her responsibility now.  For better or worse.

Vegeta felt the rage that boiled just below the surface erupt with ferocious veracity.  He reached down to deepest recesses of his dark soul and pulled forth the last remaining energy that was pooled inside of him.  He grabbed a hold of the frame of his bed that was bolted into the floor, wrenching it away from the ground with a screech of rending metal and flung it towards his jailer.

She gasped and jumped back, putting more distance between her and the killer that she had trapped.  The cot slammed against the invisible wall, sparking as the metal flattened from the force the velocity, before rebounding and clattering to the floor.  He snatched it up again, this time throwing it against the far wall with rancorous fury.  He attacked the offense piece of furniture for a full five minutes, twisting the skeletal frame into an unusable hunk of metal.  White tuffs of cotton floated serenely in the air around him, seemly disputing the whirlwind of wrath that was manifesting itself in the image of a man.  Bulma was struck by the insane thought that it was snowing inside his dreary prison cell.

Unexpectedly Vegeta halted, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.  His precious strength left him abruptly and he collapsed to his knees, his head bowed under the pale flickering light.  Bulma had backed herself up against a desk and was half way reclined on the surface, her upper body as far away as possible from the angry man.  Her hand reflexively clutched her throat and she could almost feel his fingers wrapped around her slender neck.

She drew a shuddering breath and hastily righted herself, brushing her rumpled clothes with shaking hands.  She had to regain control of her body, rein in her visible panic at his outburst.  If there was one thing that she had learned while studying this man was that he abhorred weakness in any form and showing him fear would only reinforce his disgust of her.  She took a couple of steps forward, stunned that he allowed himself to remain on the floor.  He leaned forward on his knuckles and dry hacking coughs shook his crumpled form making her grimace.

Taking another bold step forward she peered down at the fallen warrior, concern etching across her features now that her initial fright had passed.

"A-are you okay?"  She cleared her throat, desperately trying to sound nonchalant and failing horribly.

After the spasms passed, Vegeta continued to kneel on the floor, his back to the nitwit human that haunted him.  He was completely defenseless now.  She had stolen the last of his strength with her thoughtless words.  He hated Frieza with a single minded intensity, but this woman was clawing her way to the top of his list.  He clenched his eyes shut as her soft voice wound its way around him, soothing his howling soul.  He just wished he understood why he was randomly struck with the urge to lick her soft lips rather than strangle the life from her.  He brushed the thought away, blaming it on the lack of female companionship for the last few weeks.

"You have no idea do you?  Every second I'm in this _cage_," he spat the word.  "The more of my essence it sucks away.  A warrior's ki is their life force, more important than blood and you are draining it from me like some sort of freakish succubus."  His words grated over her and she felt her stomach drop.  He looked broken, kneeling in the light, like a child who had lost everything or a man who had no reason to live.  She paled at his words, dread blooming deep inside of her.  Was what he was saying true?  Was she killing him?  She could never kill another living being.  It was wrong on every level.

"I will fix it."  She vowed in a rush, desperate to repair the damage she had caused.  "I will find out what the problem is and I will solve it.  I promise."

He growled, knowing that his present course of conversation was a waste of time.  He would never get her to confess her intent and he was weary of contemplating his future.  He knew that she would kill him in the end, no matter how sincere her broken promises sounded.  He levered himself off the floor, disdaining to show any more weakness than he already had.  He could not allow her to see how frail his mind and body had become.

"So when pray tell, will I be getting these luxurious accommodations?"  He hissed scornfully, his obsidian eyes scanning her flawless complexion.  She shrugged as she moved over to her work station to examine some left over paperwork.  Her heart was still pounding loudly and she needed to look at anything else besides the fearsome male.

"A week, maybe two.  It depends on how long it takes me to complete the plans for the space drive."  She flipped through her the statistical layouts that were scattered on her desk.

"Great!  So I'm just supposed to sit here in my own filth, slowly dying, while you play around with your harebrained inventions."  He snarled while taking a perverse delight in the scarlet color that stained her cheeks.

"One, my inventions are not harebrained."  She pounced on the opportunity to change the subject.  "I happened to have built a Galaxy Class Battle Cruiser.  The first interstellar spaceship ever, excluding the pod that I sent the boys off in, and I am presenting it to the UN later this week."  She rubbed her hands together in delight as her anger faded into excitement. "We are going to start exploring space!"  She glanced over at the Saiyan and a frown reclaimed her features.  "And two, if you would take the clothes we offered you, then you wouldn't stink so bad."  She huffed at the warrior.

"I will not lower myself to dress in human clothes."  Vegeta's comment was by rote, but his agile mind was already processing this new influx of information.

Vegeta had listened to her spiel carefully and his eyes narrowed in consideration.  The despair that dragged him down had been due in part to the destruction of his pod.  She had torn apart the only three spaceships on this world in order to create a much larger one that her friends used to venture to Namek.  He had been certain that even if he did escape from this god forsaken lab, he would still be stranded on this backwater mud ball.  It appeared now, that it wouldn't be the case.  This no good waste of skin, seemed to have engineered a whole new ship and Vegeta took a marked interest in this.

Bulma turned her back on the cold warrior, deciding it was in her best interest to ignore the brute.  He was only trying to rile her now and she didn't want to get dragged down that path.  He was the only person she knew that could give her a verbal trouncing that actually stung her pride.

"So tell me Bitchess, when will you be done with this ship?"  Vegeta's husky words sent shivers down her spine.  He managed to make his insult sound like an endearment, but the underlying tone of sarcasm was sharp.  She licked her lips as she felt a rush of heat in her belly and she answered without forethought.

"A month or so."  She turned to see his piercing eyes boring into her.  Her heart raced at the deadly desire that blazed in their dark depths. 

"Why do you want to know?"  She questioned ignorantly.  His only response was a sly smile that made her bones melt and he turned away from her to glare down at what was left of his cot.  His wickedness ebbed from him in sinful waves and Bulma wanted to slap herself for her stupidity.

_Great Bulma, tell the evil man that there is a chance for escape.  Why don't you unlock his cell while you are at it?_

She gathered up her files and stalked out of the room, double damning her wayward tongue and unruly libido.


	3. Pity Fest

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ, but if anyone wants to give me Vegeta for my birthday, I wouldn't oppose the idea.

A/N:  I'm ashamed to say that I have used the C word in this chapter.  I don't like it, but it seemed the best choice to get Bulma good and mad.  Vegeta has already called her everything else and she barely bats an eye.  This is my warning and I'm sorry if this upsets anyone.  If it makes you feel better, I'm offended on your behalf.

Chapter Three

Pity Fest

Bulma sighed deeply as she collapsed into her chair in her private office.  She was bone weary and jet lagged from her trip.  She had just returned from a four day conference where she had spoken in length about her newest, mind-boggling, proposal.  Space travel.  She was the first human, who had built a theoretically sound, space worthy vessel.  She grimaced at the thought.  She said theoretically, because she dared not mention the enlarged pod she had sent Goku, Gohan and Krillan off in and her new ship was still untested.

After the battle with the Saiyans, she had been inconsolable.  Her friends and her lover were dead with no way to revive them.  With the revelation of the planet Namek everyone had been ecstatic, but reality quickly squashed their elation.  How would they ever get to another world?  They didn't have the time for her to build a ship from scrap, so she had to scavenge parts from the pods that brought the invading aliens, just barely sneaking them out from under the military's nose.  Though it was a closely guarded secret, the world's governments were very aware that two unidentified objects had entered their air space only hours before the chaos that erupted when Vegeta and Nappa had appeared.  Their greedy little fingers itched to get a hold of anything related to the rampaging strangers and they were very disappointed in their failure to locate the ships.

Therefore, the existence of Capsule Corporation's involvement with the aliens and more importantly their technology was top secret.  You can't steal from the government and expect them to pat you on the head afterwards, even if they technically didn't have possession of the desired object.

The fear of discovery did nothing to sway her from building a second ship.  This one was one hundred percent original.  All materials were components of Earth.  They were just a little bit ahead of their time, but CC had always produced revolutionary technology before anyone else.  Just look at their capsulation process.  Now it was integrated into every household throughout the world and the secret of its origin would never pass her father's lips.

Bulma was feeling restless.  That was the real reason for the construction of her precious second ship, Isis.  She had already seen everything that there was to see here on Earth.  The last frontier really was space, no matter how Star Trekky it sounded.  She wanted to probe the outer limits of her imagination, just like she had as a teenager.

Her initial excitement at the prospect of exploring space had waned as she peered into the sly faces of the various political leaders.  Debate had broken out almost immediately amongst the differing factions, each vying for the upper hand.  Some of the more enlightened leaders wanted to use the technology to extend their hand in friendship to any nearby sentient life, while the more iron-handed dictators wanted to invest in creating a fleet to conquer worlds with valuable resources.  Others were frightened of the repercussions meeting other cultures could bring, such as disease or war.  While the more close-minded members refused to even believe in the existence of aliens, thus rendering the topic of exploration invalid.

A very Vegeta like smirk had formed on her ruby lips, stunning a nearby diplomat who was drooling over her when a foreign emissary had let that little gem drop.  Aliens did not exist.  They were the creation of overactive sixteen year old boy's minds.  How they would change their tune if they knew what she kept in her basement lab, prowling his cell like a caged tiger.  She played with the top button to her blouse, almost giving the diplomat a nose bleed while she thought about her prisoner.  She licked her lips while she imagined his steel corded muscles flexing under her questing fingers.  She shook her head in disgust and turned her attention to more pressing matters.  She hoped that he hadn't terrorized too many of her people while she was away.

In the end, it was decided that discussion for space exploration would be opened up again in six months and until then Capsule Corporation's project would be closely monitored by the military.  Bulma had protested vehemently, but she had been overridden.  She returned to the comfort of her home, a headache at the stress of the last few days, pounding at her skull.  She would need to contact her litigation department to see if they could dig her out of the hole she dumped herself in, but she had little hope.  Once her government issued an order there was very little that could be done to counteract them.

To make matters worse they had sent a military liaison to accompany her back to her labs.  She had spent the last half of the day showing him around her new ship.  General Lee was a cold, war hardened man who struck her as more than a little xenophobic as well as chauvinistic.  Though he didn't come right out and say it, Bulma sensed that he would prefer it if women stayed at home and kept the house, no matter how intelligent they were.

His sidelong glances and disrespectful sneers were enough to put her teeth on edge.  He questioned her work repeatedly throughout the day, displaying next to no scientific knowledge while still maintaining an air of superiority.  He managed to leave her with the unsettling feeling that he knew she had stolen the space pods away from the military, though he couldn't prove it.  Although she had utilized some of the information she had gleaned from the ships, her vessel was completely her design, but its creation left many people suspicious.  As General Lee left for the day, Bulma had felt a knot of dread tighten in the pit of her stomach.  She knew whatever he reported back to the government committee that had been appointed to oversee this project would not be favorable.

She dropped her head onto her desk, pressing her forehead against the cool surface.  General Lee would be back at the end of the week to check on her progress and she was already thinking of ways to avoid him.  She would pass him off to Yamshita, the head of the marketing department.  He was competent, if not a little on the brown-nosing side, but what could she expect from a man whose job was to sell people on his product.  His social skills were exactly what they needed while dealing with the arrogant general.  Right now all she wanted to do was get some sleep.  She cradled her head in her arms, her eyes slowly drifting shut.

"Ms Briefs!  I'm so glad that you are back."  Her door banged against the wall and Bulma bolted upright in her chair.  She blinked as she blurrily focused on the intruder.  Asuka, her assistant, stood in the open portal, her hair in disarray and her cheeks flushed.

"What the hell?"  Bulma asked the visibly upset woman, but the answer was already forming in the back of her mind.  _That damn Saiyan._

"I'm sorry, Ms Briefs, but he's yelling for you."  The woman panted, still slightly out of breath from rushing to her boss' office.  The alien was throwing a first class hissy fit, terrifying everyone in the lab and Asuka had done the first thing she could think of.  Well the second thing.  Running for her mama was out of the question, but Bulma would do in a pinch.

Bulma growled furiously, slamming her palms on her desk as she shot up from her chair.  Asuka's eyes grew round as she flattened herself against the door to allow her infuriated superior to rush by.  She watched Bulma stalk down the hallway, shaking her head in awe.  She didn't understand why her boss wasn't afraid of ferocious man, but she supposed it was for the best.  Somebody needed to handle him and she preferred that it wasn't her.

Vegeta paced his tiny cell, his tail swishing angrily behind him.  She had been gone for four days.  She told him that she would be absent and he had threatened her with death if she left without fixing his cell, but she had ignored him.  He had waited silently, boredom eating at him until he thought he would go insane.  He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on her presence and her razor tongue to keep him entertained while he wasted away in this prison.

She was supposed to be back by now, but she had not made an appearance all day.  Finally, his thin patience had snapped and he roared at the scurrying scientists, demanding that they fetch the blue-haired witch immediately.  She needed to be here, building him a new cage that wasn't slowly killing him, but she had apparently forgotten her feeble promises. 

Feh, he shouldn't be surprised he thought to himself.  He knew that she was out to kill him since the beginning, but he honestly didn't think she would be so cruel as to watch him linger at death's door indefinitely.  He was foolish to believe that she would grant him a quick death and not study his slow demise.

The outer door slid open and the demon queen in question, swept into the room like royalty.  She stalked up to his cell stopping only centimeters away from him, the invisible wall giving the illusion that he could reach out and touch her.  She balled her fists on her hips and leaned forward slightly, sneering at him with disdain.

"What the fuck is your problem now, Vegeta?"  She demanded, the rush of anger in her veins sharpening her sleep deprived senses.  After the fruitless events at the conference she could use a good fight to release her pent up aggression.

Vegeta eyed her warily.  He had never seen the woman so hostile, not even when he had first been brought here.  Perhaps her little meeting that she had been so excited about hadn't gone well.  It would serve her right, the money grubbing bitch.  Amidst his deprecating thoughts he didn't fail to notice how her skinned glowed when she was angry.  Her cerulean eyes glinted like blades of ice and he felt his tail waving behind him in excitement.

"You are my problem!"  He snarled evilly, while turning away to kick the mangled cot in the corner.

Bulma had experienced an unexpected dilemma after their confrontation nearly a week ago.  She had hurriedly constructed his cell while he had lain unconscious from the serum she had dosed him with and unfortunately she hadn't foreseen several design flaws.  One of which being the force field that kept Vegeta caged.  There were only two ways to deactivate it.  Either the entire wall came down or a small section on the bottom right hand corner disengaged.  The hole was just large enough to slip a plate of food into, but it was by no means large enough to fit another cot through and Bulma was unwilling to take down the entire wall to replace the bed.

She had finally decided on leaving him to sleep on the floor, giving him extra bedding for padding.  She promised him a bigger bed in his new cell, but for now he had to suffer with the consequences of his mindless actions.

"Look at yourself.  Throwing a tantrum like a ten year old.  Didn't your mother teach you any manners when you were a kid or have you always been a little bastard?"  She hissed, disgusted by his violent behavior.  It seemed that anger was the only emotion he could express and woe to anything that was in his reach when he did so.

He whirled around, maneuvering as close as he dared and if it wasn't for the force field she knew that she would be able to feel his hot breath on her face.  His voice dropped down into a deadly pitch as he merciless eyes peered into hers.  "You have no idea how many people I killed by the time I was ten.  The only 'manners' that I learned as a child, were how to bow in subservience to a sadistic snake and take a beating like a man."

Bulma gulped and a cold sweat broke out on her entire body.  His obsidian eyes were red-rimmed with madness and his pupils were pinpoints of flame.  She could see the fires of destruction burning in the deep pits and she was afraid that if she stared long enough she might be able to see his bloody, brutal past in the shadows of his soul.  She jerked her eyes away, glaring down at her feet.  So many questions bubbled inside of her, but she suppressed her natural urge to ask them.  She wanted to know what had happened to him to make him into such a remorseless monster.  Who was this snake he spoke of?  How had he gotten so many scars?

"Well I'm not denying that you are a beast," she mumbled brokenly before raising her head again.  She saw the flash in triumph in his eyes.  She had looked away first and his words had splintered her anger.  She hardened herself against him once again, repeating her original question, abet without as much venom this time.

"What do you want Vegeta?"

I _WANT_ you to fix my cell.  Unless you really do intend to watch me die slowly."  He hissed vindictively.

Bulma's expressive blue eyes roved over the hard planes of Vegeta's face, taking in his haggard appearance.  His skin had a yellow pallor and dark hollows had formed under his sunken eyes, making it appear as though his sockets were deeper than they actually were.  Guilt stuck her full force as she cataloged the physical proof of his failing health.  She hooded her eyes, not wanting him to see the pity that was surfacing again.

"Of course."  She whispered, hiding her face behind the fall of aqua hued tresses and his fingers itched to reach out and touch her hair.  He wanted to know if it was as silky as it looked.  His life had always been full of course sensations and sharp angles.  He never had the opportunity to feel something soft and rounded before. He frowned down at her, squashing his absurd thoughts.

"Bulma Brazier Briefs!"  She stiffened, her head darting back up and her eyes locking with Vegeta's.  He cocked an eyebrow, mouthing her middle name mockingly and she pulled a face in response before she spun on her heel to confront the newest attack.

"Yes papa?"  She chirped, her hands finding their way behind her back, to twist in agitation.  Vegeta's lips quirked in amusement and looked over her shoulder to see a purple-haired man standing at the door, a halo of smoke around his head.  His clothes were rumbled and he had the look of a scatterbrained scientist.  If this man was the woman's father, then that explained a lot about her, Vegeta thought mockingly.  Mr. Briefs strode up to Bulma, waving papers in the air haphazardly, his assistant scurrying behind him, picking up any loose documents that fluttered to the ground.

"What have you done now, young lady?"  The man gave her a hard look and she gulped.

"Nothing daddy.  I haven't done a thing."  Behind her she could hear Vegeta snort at her cajoling tone and she had to resist the urge to snarl at him.  Vegeta could think of one or two things she had done recently that deserved a spanking.  An image of her draped over his lap with her skirt tossed up over her head formed in his mind.

"Then why do I have government representatives calling my office.  Telling me that they are going to come down here and audit our work?  We are a private corporation, Bulma.  We do not involve ourselves with those people!"  Nothing upset her father more than having his routine disrupted.  He could care less that the government was sticking their nose where it shouldn't belong, but come hell or high water, they were not going to dictate what he could experiment on.

"What's the matter?  Did the dumb bitch fuck it up?  Why am I not surprised?"  Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest, smirking wickedly at the Briefs.  Watching the woman being chided by her father was very entertaining to him.  It was almost worth waiting for four days with nothing to do, just to witness this.

Bulma whipped around, sticking her tongue at the intrusive Saiyan.  His smirk only grew wider and she wanted to smack herself in the forehead for her childish behavior.  Better yet she wanted to smack him.  Dumb bitch, indeed!  A certain monkey was going to wake up tail-less one day if he wasn't careful.  There was something about her father yelling at her that made her feel like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.  She turned back around to see her father's blanched expression.  He realized belatedly, that the alien his daughter had captured was staring at him, disgust evident in his black eyes.

He had avoided coming into her department for precisely this reason.  He didn't agree with Bulma's decision to cage the powerful man.  He feared for her safety, should the killer get free, but he understood her reasoning.  They were the only people on the planet that had the facilities to house such a dangerous animal.  That aside, he preferred to avoid this room all together.  He couldn't stop the shivers that crept down his spine whenever he looked at the prisoner.

Bulma grabbed her father by the arm leading him to the door.  "Don't worry papa, I will take care of the government.  We had to talk to them sooner of later once we started making contact with other species.  They would have to be involved if we were to start trade and diplomatic relations."

Her father sighed, allowing her to lead him to the door.  "I know honey, but they are just so pushy.  I don't like it one bit.  They think they can come in and help themselves to anything they want."

"I know papa.  Don't worry, I will take care of it."  She promised.

He nodded and he stepped through the doorway, turning back to look at her with concern etched on his face.  "You look exhausted honey.  Why don't you come have dinner with your mother and me.  She has missed you terribly, you know?  You have been working so hard lately.  You need to take a break before you collapse."

"Not tonight papa.  I have work to do."  She shook her head sadly at him.

"It can wait, Bulma.  Take a break for the night."

"No it can't wait.  I promise I will take a vacation after I have finished everything.  I will take a nice long cruise and relax."  She smiled softly and pushed her father out the door.

She strode up to far counter to start the coffee pot.  She knew that she would not be getting any rest this night and she would need to rely on the caffeine to get her through it.

Vegeta blinked as he watched the woman make her drink.  He hadn't expected her to capitulate so easily.  She had rushed into the room so full of fire that he thought for sure their argument would last beyond one or two barbs.  Then her father had come, disrupting them and trying to lead her away from her duties.  He could see her weariness permeating every fiber of her being and he was certain that she was going to walk off with her parent, but she had stayed behind, true to her word.  He shrugged satisfied for the moment that she was doing his bidding.  He glared at the remaining scientists that had stayed behind to watch the fireworks.  Instantly, they began to gather up their belongings, murmuring their goodnights to their boss who nodded half-heartedly back at them.

Cup in hand, Bulma moved over to her desk, sipping her coffee while she shifted through her papers.  She worked steadily for some hours, but her exhaustion was weighing on her heavily.  She glanced up to see Vegeta sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.  He had his knees drawn up and his head was resting on his draped arms.  She looked down, catching sight of the framed photo that graced her desk.

She picked up the picture, gently tracing the lines.  It was a photograph of her and Yamcha, just before Raditz had arrived.  They had been so happy then, two kids in love.  Then the threat of the Saiyans had made itself known and he had gone off to train, leaving her alone with her fanatical research.  All of his training had been for naught and he had died in the battle.  She glanced around at the stacks of papers and plans that littered her desk.  She had been completely obsessed with her work for the last fifteen months and she felt an aching in her heart unfurl.  She wished she could go back and be the carefree girl that she used to be, not stuck here working all of the time.  She wanted her friends back, her easy life and most of all she wanted her boyfriend.

Her vision blurred as tears threatened to fall, but they were quickly staunched by a rough voice.  "What are you mewling about you weakling?"  Her eyes darted up, glaring at Vegeta who still sat on the floor, with one leg now extended.

"I miss my boyfriend."  She stared coldly at the man that had stolen her first and only love away from her.  Vegeta returned her look with disinterest.

"What is a boyfriend?"  He questioned out of sheer boredom.  The ennui of the last few hours was nerve wracking.  He had debated whether or not to disturb the blue-haired hag, but he wanted her to finish up her work quickly.  Though she had yet to realize it, his life was hanging in the balance.  He estimated that he could survive another month maybe, under the harsh glow of the life sucking force field.  At this point he didn't care if she stuck him in an overflowing outhouse as long as she fixed the problem.  When her soft sniffling had reached his ears he had taken the opportunity to entertain himself, figuring if she was going to take a break she might as well provide him with some amusement.

Bulma blinked at him for a moment, dumbfounded at his question.  It took her a moment to realize that the word boyfriend may not translate into his language.

"Well it's someone that you spend time with."

He cocked his head to the side.  "Like a battle comrade?"

She blushed lightly dropping her eyes away from his.  "No, more like an intimate companion."  She replied.

He watched her fluctuating emotions carefully before finally sighing in disgust.  "Oh, a mate."  He stated, losing interest in the topic.  He didn't want to hear about her relationships with another male, not that he cared one way or another.  Though, an insistent voice inside his head was very curious if she was feeling 'frustrated'.

"Sort of, but you're not married."  She watched him closely while he tipped his head back to rest against the steel wall, his eyes sliding closed.

"What is married?"  He had a sneaking suspicion as to what it meant, but he wasn't sure.  He continued the inane conversation with her in the hopes that she would let something slip that he could use to start an argument with her.  That was the perfect cure for his boredom, short of being set free from his prison.

It was her turn to cock her head to the side.  Did his language not have a word for marriage either? 

"When you are married to someone, it means that you are pledged to only be with them for the rest of your life."  She twirled her pencil absently in her fingers, wondering if she would ever be married or if she would end up a work-aholic with a dozen fish to keep her company.

"I've heard of some races doing that.  Sounds tedious to me."  He brought his hand up, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure behind his eyes.

"Saiyans don't marry?"  She asked curiously.

"No," was his simple reply.

Her brow furrowed while she stared at him, disturbed for some unknown reason.  "But you just mentioned mates."

He lifted his head to look at her, annoyance clear in his eyes.  "Every race needs to mate to procreate its species.  Saiyans do not engage in long term bonds though.  We merely choose an attractive partner and fuck, long and hard, until a brat is conceived."

His dark seductive gaze and velvety tone sent shivers down her spine.  The sinful way he said fuck made her think that he was talking about her in some way.  Her cheeks heated up and she looked away, her eyes locking onto the photo of Yamcha once again.

Vegeta rolled his eyes at himself.  What was he doing?  He needed to get out of this cage soon or he was going to start getting lustful ideas about the bathroom sink.  He rubbed his face, standing up so he could stretch his muscles.

"Well, when you get done constructing my new prison, you can run off and play with your boyfriend all you want."  He hissed scornfully.  Bulma's shocked blue eyes shot up to stare at him incredulously, but his back was turned as he rotated his shoulder to work out a nasty kink.

"You killed him you ass!"  She snarled vehemently causing him to turn around and look at her with a cocked eyebrow.  She was standing up behind her desk now, clutching the picture in her hands.  "You killed him and I will never be happy again!"  She wailed dramatically and he winced at her volume.

"Oh shut up human.  You act like you are the only one in the universe who has suffered loss."  He growled at her.

"What do you know of it, you jerk?  All you ever do is take.  I bet you never lost anything precious in your life."  She was full of righteous indignation now and Vegeta fought the urge to rub his aching head.  This female was the most frustrating that he had the displeasure of meeting in a long time.  Her mercurial mood swings were disconcerting even for the hardened warrior.

"You want to talk about loss?  How about having your father hand you over to a tyrant in order to save your race, only to have it be in vain?  How about having your entire world destroyed by a meteor shower?  How about staring at yourself in the mirror and knowing you are the last of your kind left?"  He shook his fist, glaring murderously at her pale countenance.  This woman and her inconsequential problems inflamed him.  She whined over nothing.  What did she know of pain?  Of Suffering?  Of all the things he had to endure in one life time that should have never been heaped on ten?  She knew nothing but her small petty world.

Bulma trembled as his words rained down on her.  How would she bear it if Earth was destroyed?  Could she survive is she was last of her race?

"What about Goku?"

"That third class is a disgrace to his heritage and he is dead to me."  Vegeta growled with finality.

"What about…"  Vegeta cut of her words with a slash of his hand, his black eyes burning holes of scorn into her flesh.

"Shut your ugly mouth, cunt.  I will hear no more of your whining."

White hot anger spiked through her brain, causing a reflex action that Bulma had long since despaired of ever curing.  Sarcasm.

"Well if you hadn't thoughtlessly murdered your bald friend, maybe you wouldn't be so alone now, at the mercy of this 'dumb bitch'.  Although he's probably relieved that he doesn't have to put up with your rude, scrawny ass in the next dimension, along with the rest of your race."  Bulma snapped her jaw shut, turning her back on the Saiyan prince.  She gathered up her files and stomped out of the lab, leaving him to stew in his vindictive thoughts. 


	4. Deadly Embrace

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ.  However I do own Vegeta.  He came to me of his own free will.  Well I bribed him with a marathon sex and a GR, but he's mine just the same.

Or maybe not, but a girl can dream.

Chapter Four

Deadly Embrace

The woman was mad.  It was obvious to everyone who had the misfortune to cross her path, but disturbingly, she wasn't displaying her usual signs of rage.  There was no fire shooting from her hard blue eyes or insults spewing from her rosy mouth.  His pathetic existence had been reduced to prodding her wrath, eagerly watching her eyes light with the challenge of taking him down a notch.  Most of all he craved the zing of excitement that replaced his lethargy when she turned her razor sharp tongue on him.

This anger was far worse.  It was unbearable.  Unendurable.  Hellish even.

It had been three whole days and she had not once spoken to him.  Her silence was deafening, her hurt and resentment a vile miasma in the air.  There was no doubt in his limited male mind that she was pissed, with a capital P.  She didn't even spare him a glance as she swept regally into the room like a cold wind on a frozen plain.  He, of course, followed their normal routine, ridiculing her intelligence and appearance as if by rote.  Her face remained cool and impassive as she walked over to her desk, sorting through her papers.  He snorted at first, amused by her attempt to ignore him, the Saiyan Prince.  Didn't she know that she just invited him to do his worse?

His jeers became increasingly debasing until finally he settled on name calling.  Bulma didn't even bat an eye.  She reached over, flipping the switch to a little black box and the most horrific sounds began to pour out of it.  He listened closely when the man's voice echoed from the device and found out that she was listening to music.

The second day she didn't even bother to let him get warmed up.  Instead she sat down and turned on the radio immediately.  She listen to Rammstein and Vegeta found that he didn't mind their sound.  In fact he liked it quite a bit.  It was dark and grating just like him.  He smirked, inhaling deeply as he began to insult her over the volume of the music.  Much to his despair, Bulma switched tactics and swiftly set about winning this new form of battle they had developed.

She turned the channel.

The announcer called it "the Eighties".  Whatever that meant.  All Vegeta knew was that it was that it was the worse thing he had ever heard.  Or so he thought.  He screamed at her to turn the racket off, instead she turned to look right at him.  He felt a rush of victory course through his veins, but then her mouth popped opened.

He supposed you could call it singing.  He would rather refer to it as caterwauling.  She belted out the lyrics of the songs at the top of her lungs, drowning out his scornful remarks.  For the rest of the night, she sang along to every song that came on and all he could do was fry her with his eyes.  Over and over the same phrase repeated in his head. 

I'm in hell.  I've died and gone to hell and no one saw fit to inform me.

Now it was the third night and Vegeta eyed the bitch queen warily.  She had turned on the radio again and she was listening to the station that he preferred, but he was hesitant to begin his daily regimen of insults.  He grimaced in her direction.  He couldn't allow himself to be intimidated by some weak female whose only weapon was her shrieking voice.  He opened his mouth, but an image of Bulma singing along to "White Wedding Day" stopped him.  He closed his mouth, sneering maliciously.  This had to be hell, there was no other explanation.  Honestly, he thought that there would be blue skinned ogres running about, wielding whips, but he supposed a blue haired harpy would do.

She stood up suddenly, switching off the music.  She gathered up her papers and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you are going?"  He rushed to the front of his cell.  His answer was the swish of the lab doors closing.  He turned around to kick the mangled cot in the corner before leaning up against the cool metal wall.  He slid down onto the floor and rested his forehead on his upraised knees. 

He was alone again. 

The only sound he could hear was the hum of the lighting filament.  Shadows shifted in the darkened lab beyond the pool of light that he huddled in.  The whispers began and he clenched his eyes shut.  For the millionth time since being imprisoned, Vegeta began his mediation, desperately walling up the dam in his mind that was threatening to give under the weight of his despair.

The shadows seethed and he could hear something scurry out in the lab.  Yes, there was no doubt.  He was in hell.

"Stupid monkey."  Bulma muttered bitterly as she eyed her results.

She had never been so angry in her life and there had been some duzzies in the past.  Yamcha cheating on her that one time, ranked right up there with the wrath of God, but that was nothing compared to how she felt about Vegeta and his vicious mouth.  What was it about that Saiyan that brought out the worse in her?  Whenever she was in his presence she felt purposely malicious.  She took perverse delight in tormenting him and his behavior only encouraged her rudeness.  In retrospect, him calling her a name shouldn't have made her as mad as it did, but she just couldn't contain the bitterness that welled up inside of her.  It had to be him.  She must be absorbing his black aura somehow.  He was infecting her with his evil.

Bulma grimaced and rubbed her eyes, while tramping down her stupidity.  The only thing that monkey was doing was driving her crazy.

She tested the formula once again.  She had to be positive that it would work.  Mistakes could not be made.  After a week of solid work, she had finally completed construction of Vegeta's new cell.  In order to keep pace with her normal deadlines, it was necessary to work on her ship during the day and construct Vegeta's new cell in the evenings.  That meant she had to be subjected to his ugly presence, while depriving her of much needed rest.  She was dead tired and she promised herself that she would take a day off and just sleep.  There was just one last thing left to do.

She had to figure out how to move the Saiyan Prince.

She couldn't just unlock his cell and ask him to quietly move into the next one.  The first thing he would try to do would be to escape, especially after she had subjected him to her musical stylings.  A smirk formed on her lips as she thought about the look of horror that had crossed his face when she began to sing along with the songs on the radio.  He looked both disgusted and oddly fascinated at the same time.  Probably his version of a car wreck.  It served him right for making her cranky.

He certainly wasn't going to stand still and let her shoot him again either.  She could just imagine that conversation.  "Hey Vegeta would you mind moving a little to the right so I can get a bead on you?"  His response would not be child friendly she thought with a roll of her eyes.

Her best choice was to knock him unconscious and the way to do that was to tranquilize him.  Again, she was brought back to the same dilemma.  He wasn't going to let her shoot him and she wasn't about to get close enough to him to stick him with a needle.

She swirled the test tube, staring at the clear liquid.  The only way to get the drug into the Saiyan's system was for him to ingest it.  Since he wasn't going to voluntarily eat it, that meant she was going to have to slip it into his food.  She had created the perfect compound for just that purpose.  It was odorless, colorless and tasteless.  Once it was given to him he should fall unconscious for no less than five hours.  That was plenty of time to move him into his new quarters.

She felt a sickening wave of doubt as she put the tube back in the rack.

Vegeta watched the woman as she moved restlessly around the outer lab.  She rarely appeared during the day and he wondered what she was up too.  He shoved another mouthful of chicken curry in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.  He didn't really have an appetite, a fatal sign for a Saiyan, but he forced himself to eat out of preservation.

Bulma nibbled nervously at the end of her pencil, trying her hardest not to look at Vegeta while he ate.  He put the plate down and pushed it away with a metallic scrape.  He felt drowsy, more so than usual, but he assumed it was because of his failing health.  He lay back on his pallet, turning his head to the side so he could watch the curious female.

She was at her desk now, sitting impossibly still with her hands clenched in her lap.  Her behavior was unsettling and he tried to puzzle it out.  He felt his lids becoming heavier and he blinked once or twice, the image of the woman becoming blurry.  With a deep sigh he surrendered to the dark oblivion of sleep, leaving the enigma of women to a later time.

As soon as Bulma was certain that Vegeta had fallen asleep she jumped up, letting in the security detail that was waiting outside the lab doors.  They had been briefed on Vegeta's unusual abilities and had been armed with special pistols that fired her serum.  She wanted the move to go smoothly but she was prepared if it did not.

She held her breath as she disengaged the force field, but the Saiyan remained still.  Five of the biggest men that she could find, rushed into the cell, picking up the prince and hauling him out of the room.  She followed anxiously as they left the lab, heading for another one at the end of the corridor.

They entered the room and quickly proceeded into Vegeta's new cell.  They placed him on the bed, stepping away hurriedly.  Even unconscious, the sadistic man scared them.  Bulma moved forward, her troubled eyes roaming over the sleeping Saiyan's countenance.  He looked terrible and concern knotted in her stomach.

"Asuka, get my medical kit."  She ordered her assistant.  The woman's eyes widened a bit, before she nodded and scurried out of the room.

Bulma was worried about Vegeta.  As mad as he made her, she wasn't inhuman.  If he was ill, she needed to treat him.  This would probably be the last time she would be able to get this close to examine him anyways. 

Asuka rushed back in the room, stopping at the portal to the cage.  Bulma sighed and stalked over, snatching the case for the frightened woman.  She opened her kit on the bed, pulling out a needle to draw blood.  She took his vitals, not paying attention to anything else.

Vegeta felt like he was under a thick woolen blanket.  It was suffocating him, pressing down on his chest  and coating his nose and mouth.  He tried to move his limbs but they were leaden and his eyes were impossibly heavy.  He felt a sharp prick in his arm and he began to claw his way to the surface of his mind.  The instinct to survive overriding the urge to sleep.

The woman.

He could smell her, feel her, as her soft hands roved over his skin.  She was right next to him.  The hag had tried to poison him, but she had failed.  He was still alive and he was going to punish her.  He fought his way out of the deep abyss he had fallen into.  His eyes crept open and he could see the fall of her aqua tresses around her shoulders, trailing down to his chest as she studied something on his arm.

With a muffled growl he reared up, startling the woman who tried to leap away.  The poison was still flowing through his veins and his body responded sluggishly to his commands, but even in his drugged state he was quicker.  He lunged towards her, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to the ground under him as he rolled off the bed.

He knelt over her, his strong hands wrapping around her dainty neck.  How many times had he envisioned this very thing while he lain in his cell day after day.  He felt elation bloom in his chest, mixing with the drug in his system.  He felt distant, disembodied.  In his hazy state he couldn't remember what exactly he had fantasized about.  Did he want her lifeless beneath him or writhing in pleasure?  He shook his head slightly, the images of his mind bleeding together, confusing him.  The only thing that kept him anchored was the feel of her small fingers wrapped around his thick wrists, her nails digging into his flesh leaving half moon wounds. 

"What have you done, Bitchess?"  His raspy voice was low enough that only the two of them could hear it.  He stared down into her shimmering blue eyes, so wide with fear that they were a sea of cerulean.

Bulma looked into the black eyes of her killer.  She was drowning in the hate and anger that was pooled their.  So much resentment swirled in those dark pits that it swamped her.  She could not escape, she could not free herself.  Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen and her throat ached at the pressure of his hands. 

Her tongue swelled and crystalline tears streamed endlessly from the corner of her eyes.  She didn't want to die.  She didn't want to be murdered by him.

"Vegeta."

His name was a cracked whisper that penetrated the haze of euphoria that engulfed him.  He watched the silent tears fall from her eyes, trailing down into her hair at her temples.  Her tresses fanned out around her, like a halo of goodness.  Her pale skin began to turn blue around her mouth, drawing his gaze to her ruby lips.  He became entranced with their sweet curve and almost gently he lifted her upper body off the ground by her neck.  Her small hands were still curled around his wrists and her head fell back, the fall of her hair making it heavy.

In the distance shouting could be heard and he felt a multitude of hands on his body, tearing at his shirt and pulling his hair, but all he saw was her face.  He drew her closer, his tail winding tightly around her waist to hold her against him while his grip on her throat loosened slightly and his thumbs brushed over the thrumming of her pulse.  How could such an exquisite creature be left undefended, open to attack from the monsters of the universe, such as himself?  He was barely conscious and yet he held her easily, her thin neck a flick away from being snapped.

Bulma's eyes never left Vegeta's.  The rushing of her blood in her ears drowned out the sounds of her rescuers.  Her vision began to tunnel and white lights danced on the edges as his onyx eyes glittered down at her.  He lifted her up, her lower body still pinned under his thighs as he sat back on her legs.  A steel bar wrapped itself around her ribs, squeezing painfully, fitting her against his chest.  Suddenly she was able to draw in the barest hint of air and she did so greedily.  She watched in surreal wonder as Vegeta dipped his head down towards hers, the hate draining away from his eyes and igniting with dark desire. 

His lips formed his pet name for her again.  No sound only the motion.  Bitchess.  A silent caress of ownership.  By naming her, he marked her, but for what she was uncertain.  She trembled under him, entranced by him.  Losing herself to his deadly embrace. Behind the wide expanse of his strong shoulders, Bulma could see her co-workers, tearing at the man who held her, desperately trying to pull him away. 

His hot breath skimming over her cheek and her lips parted almost in welcome as her eyes rolled back in her head.  His lips hovered above hers, searing her flesh with his heat, but then his entire body stiffened and the anger infused his steely gaze once again, before losing their light all together.  He slumped against her, his body pinning her to the floor and his hands fell away from her neck.

She inhaled deeply as the freedom to breathe registered in her mind.  She gaped at the ceiling, her brain unable to comprehend the last few seconds.  She felt Vegeta being rolled away and precious second were wasted while they tried to pry his tail from around her waist.  Although he was unconscious, his tail refused to release her, it flexed possessively, displaying dominance.  Finally, she was freed and someone dragged her across the floor to the cell's exit.  The person collapsed behind her and Bulma leaned into the comfort of their arms as she stared fixedly at Vegeta's crumpled form on the ground, noting the numerous serum darts jabbed into him. 

A shimmer of yellow flashed as the force field burst into place, visibly reminding her of the peril she had just barely escaped.  She shivered with fear as she rubbed her sore neck.  The hate she had seen in Vegeta's eyes had been tangible.  If he had been in his right mind and not drugged he would have killed her without remorse.  What had she done?  How was it possible that she, Bulma Briefs, the richest and most beautiful woman in the world, could be the inspiration of so much loathing?  People loved her.  They always loved her.  She was perfect. Was she wrong to take someone's freedom from them, even if they were an unimaginable threat to the world?  Was she really capable of being so horrible that another living being could despise her enough to kill her?

What frightened her most was not the hate she saw in his dark eyes, but the lust.  She could not deny that she felt an attraction for the warrior, but to respond to him while he held her life in his hands was ludicrous.  Why had he looked at her like that?  Was it the drug?  She eyed at the fallen man, watching closely for signs of life and feeling relief when he took a long steady breath.  Why had he done it?  Why had she?

Behind her, Asuka whimpered and Bulma silently agreed to her unspoken statement.  Just what had she gotten them into?


	5. Monkey Love

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ.  I do however have sole dominion over my wicked fantasies.

Chapter Five

Monkey Love

Vegeta thoroughly examined his new home, checking for any weakness in the solid walls, floor and ceiling.  It was far superior to the hole he had previously inhabited, but it was still a cage.   It was larger, about seven hundred square feet and he had a separate bathroom that shielded him from prying eyes.  No longer did he have to relieve himself while everyone watched.  There was a bathing stall as well and once he came to the sinking realization that there was no escape from this dungeon, masquerading as a cozy apartment, he indulged himself in a long, soothing shower.

As he sat under the warm spray, he racked his brain, shifting through the foggy memories that skulked about in his mind.  He thought he remembered attacking the woman.  She had been beside him, poisoning him maybe?  He had reached out, wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezed the life from her fragile body.  Hadn't he?  He shook his head.  He couldn't see the memory clearly.  The images of his mind blurred together and if asked he wouldn't be able to say if he had killed the woman or fucked her.  Or either for that matter.

It was obvious from the pounding in his skull that she had drugged him.  He had to applaud her ingenuity.  He had been planning his escape to coincide with his move, but she had outsmarted him.  She had incapacitated him and now he was well and truly trapped.  He bereted himself for not foreseeing that particular tactic.  Obviously, she would choose the path of least resistance and taking him out of the equation entirely was the best way to accomplish that. Vegeta was positive that he wouldn't be getting out of this cell anytime soon.  She'd have made sure that there would be no reason to move him again in the immediate future.

Vegeta stepped out of the shower, drying his body with a fluffy towel that had been provided for him.  He wiped the steam from the mirror, studying his reflection.  After only a day away from the life draining force field he looked and felt much better.  His skin was returning to a healthy glow and his eyes sparkled with renewed vigor.

She had fixed the anomaly from the previous force field, but much to his consternation, this new one was just as effective at repressing his ki.  He couldn't burst through the invisible barrier, nor could he smash the walls of his cell.  He braced his hands on either side of the sink, staring into the black drain, hopelessness and despair swirling inside of him.  Was he fated to spend the rest of his life a prisoner to a pathetically weak race?  A shudder ran down his spine as Frieza's mocking laughter echoed in his pounding head.  Resentment festered and bubbled inside of him.  The Prince of all Saiyans had been reduced to some female's science project and he had missed his chance to win his liberty because he was distracted by a certain witches' big, blue eyes.

With a dejected sigh he turned to face a built-in armoire and pulled open the doors to peer inside.  On the shelves, neatly stacked and folded were several sets of blue and black uniforms.  Vegeta cocked an eyebrow and took one out of the closet.  No doubt, the woman had replicated his suits in the hopes that he would cease to wear his tattered one.  He held it up, rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger.  It was yet another symbol of his enslavement.  Even if he were to escape the woman, he was still within the clutches of his master.  One way or another he would always be a slave to someone.

His hand fisted in the material and his chin dropped down to his chest.  Would he ever be free to seek his own destiny?  He had come for the dragon balls for just that purpose, but they had been snatched away from his grasp.  Now his ability to chase after them on Namek had been stolen away from him as well.  The more Vegeta thought on it, the more he was convinced that the only true liberty was death.  In the second after his soul was ripped from his cold body and before he was pulled into the dark depths, he would have one moment of pure, unadulterated freedom.

_I just want to be free._

With a shrug of disgust at his worthless, rambling thoughts he dropped the towel on the ground and stepped into the uniform.  First things first.  He had to escape the woman and then he could deal with Frieza.

He stepped out into the main room, automatically sweeping the lab with his dark eyes.  She had yet to make an appearance this day and he wondered if he had hurt her or if it was just a dream.  He glared at the scurrying scientist, knowing that he would find no answer with them.  They were too afraid to speak to him and he would never directly ask them a question.  They were too far beneath him to speak with.  

His new accommodations boasted a king size bed and small table that was currently overflowing with food.  His warden must have directed the feast to be set on the table while he was unconscious.  Her way of abating his anger at her treachery, he was sure.  He had no desire to eat any food provided by the woman, but he knew that hunger would compel him sooner or later.  He turned away, catching sight of a large overstuffed chair that faced a wall.  He looked at this curiously.  Built into the wall was another cabinet and when he slid the door away he was greeted by a large black screen.  He stared at it a few minutes, uncertain of what it was, before shrugging and walking away.

Now that his health was restored and he was in no danger of having his ki drained, he set about repairing the damage to his muscles.  He dropped down onto the floor, relishing the feel of strength that flowed through him as he worked his body.  In front of the stunned scientist's eyes he began his impossible regime of exercise and much to the other male's distaste Vegeta collected an audience of females that watched wide eyed as his muscles bulged while he performed an endless string of pushups.

The day wore on and still Bulma did not appear in the lab.  He thought for sure she would have checked up on how he was fairing in his new cell.  It was in her nature to preen at her accomplishments.  Eventually, the scientists left, leaving Vegeta alone once again.  He trained throughout the night, never once slowing his punishing pace.  It was better to fall into exhaustion then to surrender to the perilous abyss of sleep, the one place that Vegeta had no control of his mind's wanderings.

The next morning he walked into the bathroom and stopped dead.  There was no towel on the floor and a fresh one was on the rack in its place.  He knew that he hadn't cleaned the mess up himself and no one could have entered the cell without him knowing it.  He quickly examined the walls again, looking for a hidden door, but there was nothing but smooth metal.

He scowled fiercely and promised himself that he would stay alert and wait for any opportunity.  If someone got in, then there had to be a way out.  He allowed a small glimmer of hope to take root in his mind.  Perhaps the woman wasn't as infallible as she would like to think.  He washed up, completing his business before striding out into the main room only to be brought up short again.  Yesterday's meal had been removed from the table and breakfast was waiting for him.  He quickly looked around, again finding no explanation for this new development.

He walked over to the table and looked down at the feast set out before him.  He was a little hesitant to eat food given to him by the witch, but a growling in his stomach reminded him that he had little choice in the matter.  With a fatalistic shrug he sat down at the table and began to stow away mounds of food in his bottomless stomach, his tail wagging happily behind him.  He had been worried when he lost his appetite, but it was back stronger than ever.  Once he was done, he started his exercises again, silently waiting for the woman.

Bulma entered the lab later that afternoon.  She weaved her way through the desks, stopping here and there to reassure her employees that she was healthy.  As soon as she had entered, Vegeta ceased his workout, watching the woman with the intensity of a predator.  He looked closely for any injuries, but she seemed to be unhurt.  She was dressed in a dark blue business suit with her lab jacket draped over her like usual.  In fact, the only thing that seemed to be out of place was the white silk scarf that was wound around her neck, the ends tucked into her blazer. 

Vegeta's eyes narrowed when he saw this.  The hazy memory that swirled in his mind sharpened and his fingers flexed menacingly.  Had he held the woman's life in his grasp?  Had she been pinned under him?  Had he failed to kill her like he longed to?

As she neared he noticed that she didn't look directly at him, stopping several paces away from the field.  She glanced around his room, making sure everything was in place.  She fidgeted nervously under his hard gaze for a moment, before regaining her normally cool composure.

"So do you like your new home?"  Bulma's voice was raspy, her usually dulcet tones, deeper and huskier.  Vegeta cocked his head subtly to the side, his black eyes scanning her once again, before latching on the silk scarf.  That scrap of material disturbed him, making him unreasonably angry, as though it had insulted him somehow.

"It will do until I get out."  He responded neutrally, watching as the corner of her lips quirked in response.  Her red lips drew him.  There was something important that he should remember.  Something about her mouth, the sweet curve of her ruby lips.  Vegeta shook his head, noting that she still wasn't looking at him.  Instead, she was staring at the floor just to his left.

"I don't think that will be anytime soon, Vegeta."  Her long fingers, tugged at her scarf, rearranging it more comfortably on her neck, before trailing around to play with the small hairs of her nape.  Vegeta felt resentment boil inside of him inexplicably at her actions.  Why was she wearing that ridicules piece of clothing?  He hated it.  It disgusted him, but why?

"Take it off."  His velvet voice feathered over her, caressing her with heated octaves.  Her eyes darted up, locking with his in surprise.  The moment their eyes met, the oxygen in the room ceased to exist and she had to fight for breath.  He stood before her, bare to the waist, his muscles glistening in the soft glow of the overhead light.  She could see the sheen of sweat coating him, polishing him like a bronze statue.  A god of chaos, posing just for her.

"What?"  Her injured voice was barely a whisper.  Memories began to flood Vegeta.  He saw her beneath him, shaking with fear, tears streaming down into her teal hair that fanned around her.  He held her down but the neck, her fragile life held brutally in his battle scarred hands.  If he had her, how had she escaped?

"Take off the scarf."  He had to see the proof.  He had to see what she was hiding from him.  What she was hiding from the world. 

Bulma was drowning in the black intensity of his gaze.  The world beyond them ceased to exist and all she could do was stare at the man who was her own personal demon.  He was a shadow in her soul.  Why did she respond to him at moments like these?  Why did she feel the urge to obey him?  What was wrong with her?  She was a strong, independent woman.  Why was she drawn to this wicked man?  He was nothing but bad for her.  Sinful, like chocolate, arousing in his perversity, animalistic, raw and untamed.  He cast a black magic spell that twisted her to his will.

A temptation of the flesh.

"No."  Her hand clutched her throat reflexively.  He would have killed her.  He still might kill her if he ever got free from his cage.  Evil was just that, evil.

He moved closer, his sleek muscles rippling hypnotically.  Her heart raced and her lungs labored as they stood inches apart.  The invisible shield separated them, keeping her safe from him.  From herself.

"Do it."  His voice wove its way around her, urging her to give in to her desires.  The need to see her bare neck was building inside of him like an obsession.  It had become the doorway to his hazy memories, the path that he refused to see on his own.

Bulma's mouth hardened into a bitter line, her eyes freezing with scorn.  If he wanted to see the damage that he had done, so be it.  Let him see that she had survived his attack.  Let him see that he had failed, she was still here and she wasn't leaving anytime soon.  He was still at her mercy.  Her prisoner.  She had the power, not him.

She unwrapped her neck, baring her hideous bruises to his unwavering gaze.  The sight of the obscene marks on her neck had shocked her this morning when she had peered in the mirror.  Yesterday, true to her promise she had slept the entire day away, catching up on much needed rest.  The trauma on her neck had two days to darken and bloom into the mottled mass that was now ringing her throat like a choker of black rosettes.

As her wounds were reveled to Vegeta he showed no visible reaction on his impassive face.  An observant person may have noticed how his tail tightened around his waist in response, but his eyes gave nothing away.  Inside of Vegeta, emotions warred for supremacy.

He was enraged.  He had been so close.  All he had to do was twist his wrist to the side, snapping her neck and his tormentor would have finally been dead.  The only creature on this piece of shit mud ball that was smart enough to keep him trapped.  With her out of the way, he could easily escape.  Unless of course, her death solicited rage among her employees and they murdered him in his sleep as punishment.  But still, he would have had the satisfaction of having her dead.

Wouldn't he?

His eyes flicked up to her lips, the path to his darken memories illuminating with every passing second.  He had lifted her off the ground.  He had held her in his arms, his tail wrapping around her slender waist.  His lips had descended towards hers.

His wide eyes shot up to lock with hers once again.  Instead of killing her, he had tried to kiss her.  The second emotion, battling with his anger roared inside of him.

Desire.

As much as he wanted to see her dead, another part of him raged against it.  Before he saw her lying broken on the floor he wanted to taste her.  He wanted her wrapped around him, under him, whimpering in submission.  He wanted to own her before he rid himself of her.  He wanted to punish her for her sins.  He wanted to tear apart the image of goodness that she presented to the world and taint her with his wickedness.  He wanted her to scream before she gasped her last.

Bulma watched the hateful, glittering lust that sparkled in Vegeta's eyes.  She wrapped her small hand around her neck, shielding her bruises from him, protecting herself.  White hot fury seethed in her chest.  Who was he to look at her with such possessiveness?  He was hers, not the other way around.  She owned his monkey ass and he had better get used to it.  Her upper lip curled back into a sneer, her icy eyes narrowing in challenge to his unspoken dominance.

Vegeta saw the defiance flashing in her eyes and he growled deeply, his chest rumbling in response.  His tail curled longing behind him, aching to wind itself around her again, to feel her fragile body in his grasp.

They stood there, locked in a silent battle for an eternity.  Neither hearing the swish of the lab doors or the chattering of voices, but both heard the high pitched squeal that erupted behind them.  Bulma whirled around, hastily wrapping the scarf around her neck while Vegeta glared over her shoulder, his stomach sinking at the sight.  In the center of the room stood a blond-haired woman dressed in a profusion of pink frills and bows, while expertly balancing a plate of cookies in one hand and a jug of milk in the other.  Vegeta noted with some concern that many of Bulma's employees slouched down and tried unsuccessfully to escape before being sighted by the harpy.

"Now.  Now.  Don't run off.  I brought enough home-made cookies and milk for all of Bulma's little friends."  The woman chirped and those who had scurried for the exit, turned dejectedly to face her.  They accepted their fate gracelessly, but they couldn't help but to eye the platter hungrily. 

"Umm Mama, I thought I told you not to come to my work and disturb me." 

"Mama?  No wonder you are a walking disaster.  You were whelped by the two most idiotic beings on this world."  Vegeta snorted in distaste.

Bulma whirled on Vegeta, anger shooting from her eyes.  "My father is not an idiot."  She hissed vehemently.  Vegeta cocked an eye at her and Bulma's face flushed red when she realized that she excluded her mother in her heated defense.  Mrs. Briefs squeaked happily, placing the platter and milk down on a nearby desk and darted towards her daughter, much to the scientist's relief.  Once she had moved out of range they fell on the food like ravenous dogs.  Mrs. Briefs was many things, an excellent cook being one of them.

"Oh is this the nice young man you have been spending so much time with?  He's so handsome."  She gave her daughter conspiring nudge, unleashing a sparkling smile of welcome at Vegeta.  He was momentarily dumbstruck.  He didn't know what to do.  Perhaps she didn't know that he was the most wanted killer in the universe.  He returned her smile with his own predatory snarl, flashing his fangs in a menacing manner that was sure to turn her blood cold.  Instead he was greeted with an empty-headed giggle as Mrs. Briefs pretended to swoon on Bulma's arm.

"Oh he's so rugged.  And those muscles! There just so big!"  Her blue eyes roved down his hard body, finally stopping at the apex of his thighs.  "I wonder if he's big, _everywhere._"  Bulma choked and stood frozen in shock as her mother moved forward towards the dangerous man.  Vegeta had met many races in his life, but he had never seen anything quite like the woman's mother.  As she started to move near him, he took a step back.  Some may have called it fear, but he would have referred to it as self preservation.  The female was obviously off her rocker.  His observation was proven correct when she walked smack into the force field, rebounding off and blinking owlishly at the invisible wall. 

He scoffed scornfully and Bulma quickly gathered her mother, dragging her back to the center of the room and thankfully away from him.  She stopped at her desk, pulling out a small black device, pointing it towards him.  Vegeta growled in warning and tried to power up, thinking she meant to harm him in some way, but she ignored his movements concentrating on the cabinet behind him instead.  The doors slid open, reveling the black screen that blinked to life, startling him momentarily.

"…the Japanese Macaque is the only primate to live in the northern most regions of Japan."  A distant voice from the television echoed in the tension filled room.

"Here, watch some TV, Vegeta and be a good boy."  She tossed the remote back down on her desk, turning back to her mother with a thunderous scowl.

"Mom, stay away from him.  He's dangerous."  Bulma snapped.

"Oh, but he looks like such a nice, _upstanding_, boy.  I can see why you haven't come to dinner the last couple of weeks.  I bet he just wears you out."  Mrs. Briefs giggled horrendously and several people shivered.  Bulma's face darkened from crimson to purple at her mother's words and she darted a narrowed glare at the man in question.  He was lounging against the doorframe, looking every inch the bedroom Casanova her mother was making him out to be.  Stamina was probably his middle name.

"…the troop is lead by a dominate, alpha male, who is strong enough to defend the unit."

Bulma rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her mother.  "It's not like that mom.  He's a prisoner here.  He's a very bad man."

Mrs. Briefs looked at her daughter, her vacant expression fading away.  "Bad men often make the best lovers and if you can tame them they make the most loyal of husbands."

Bulma blinked at her mother.  She couldn't have been more stunned if her mother started rattling off the periodic table to her.  The thought of her being married to Vegeta was absurd.  It was inconceivable.  Ludicrous.  An absolute impossibility.

"You know mom, I think about other things besides getting married.  If I wanted a husband I would have wed Yamcha ages ago.  I'm just not ready to settle down yet and don't get any ideas about Vegeta either.  An ogre would make a better son-in-law than him."  She rolled her eyes, turning away from her mother in disgust and began rooting around in her drawer for some aspirin.

"…the female of the species is notoriously promiscuous.  She may choose to mate with several different males in the same season then proceed to ignore those males for years to come."  Vegeta turned slightly to watch the brown monkeys scamper around on the big screen, while eying the two females who continued to argue.

"Oh honey, you know you aren't going to be young forever.  Someday the fruit is going to fall off the vine, if you know what I mean."  Twittered, Bulma's mother.

"No, I'm not sure that I do."  Bulma muttered.

"Marriage is nothing to run away from.  After you're married, you can still enjoy a healthy sex life.  Just look and me and your father.  We still get wet and wild at least four nights a week."  Mrs. Briefs fluffed her hair, while checking her lipstick in the small compact she had produced out of seemingly thin air.  Bulma stared at her in shock, while Vegeta's lip curled in disgust.  The last thing he wanted to imagine was this woman and that lavender haired freak getting it on. 

"That's vile.  Take your offensive talk elsewhere, you half-witted females."  Vegeta sneered vindictively.

Apparently, Bulma felt the same way, because she slapped her head to her forehead and began to groan.  "Mom."  She wailed.  "Why don't you go visit dad or something?"

"Now, now, don't get so melodramatic dear.  The only reason you and the young man fight so much is because you have some pent up frustration.  I say you take some time to release it."

"…during mating season the male primate will become increasing aggressive while in the female's proximity."

Bulma snatched her mother up by the arm and marched her out the door.  "Now honey, all I'm saying is you need to have a nice, hard…"  Vegeta didn't hear the rest of the bubble-headed woman's words as the door shut behind the two females.  He let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the perplexing program on the television.

"…the females nurture the infants while the males stay close guard the females and protect the young offspring."

Vegeta shook his head and turned away from the family displayed on the television, choosing instead to continue his training.


	6. Sonofa

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

Chapter Six

Son-of-a-…

Vegeta watched with callous disregard as an intruder prowled unnoticed into the lab. As soon as the door had opened he had been aware of the man's unfamiliar ki. The scientists continued to scurry back and forth, their precious research far more important than an uninvited guest in their midst.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he observed the man's controlled demeanor and unconscious command of his area. His close cropped gray hair and uniform marked him as military, igniting Vegeta's interest immediately. The man's steely gaze swept over the scientists with disdain, before finally settling with cold intensity on Vegeta, who stood motionless in the center of his cell.

The man's eyes flared and his lip curled as he marched forward, ignoring all who crossed his path and finally gaining the attention of Bulma's employee's. The man stopped in front of Vegeta's cage, his lip furling back into a full fledged snarl of anger as recognition took hold.

"You." The man hissed with barely repressed fury. Vegeta cocked an eyebrow at the enraged man, uncaring of what he had done to draw the man's hatred. This was the look that he was used to seeing in the eyes of those who stood before him. Hatred and fear were emotions he knew well.

"You are one of those monsters that came down and annihilated half of our military. You are the bastard that ordered the deaths of my men." The man's fists clenched into hard rocks at his side and he spat the words out between clenched teeth.

Vegeta's cruel lips curled into a smirk, enjoying the sense of power the man's words brought him. Only he was capable of bringing such vehemence to the surface of the most rigid of men. He struck terror into the hearts of the masses. He was a destroyer of worlds, not a captive to a weak witch of a woman.

"Well if your men weren't such piss poor, wanna-be, miserable excuses for males, they wouldn't be rotting in their graves now. I was just doing your world a favor by cleaning up the gene pool." Vegeta sneered, his pleasure at taunting the man visible in every nuance of his body.

"You son-of-a-bitch! How dare you insult the sacrifice those men made to protect their planet." The man shook his fist at Vegeta, rage seeping out of every pore.

"Hn. You're right. If you had any sense of honor you would kill yourself for failing so horribly. Let someone else get the chance to be even more pathetic than you." Vegeta snickered, enjoying every passing minute.

The man's eyes narrowed, hate brewing inside of him with malicious force. "What are you doing here? How is that you are still alive?" The man's head whipped back and forth, taking in Vegeta's plush surroundings and his relaxed demeanor.

Vegeta shrugged nonchalantly at the man's questions, his agile mind already forming a plan of escape. "The woman says it's a prison," Vegeta motion to the room around him, a wolfish smile gracing his hard features, "but this is the nicest prison I have ever been in." He walked over to his lazy boy, snatching up the remote to reveal his fifty-two inch flat screen television that would cost the man half a year's salary. "I mean, I could leave at anytime, but why would I want to. The woman sees to my every need." Vegeta's black eyes glittered with an insinuating light and the man choked on his rage.

"The woman? Do you mean Bulma Briefs?" The man rasped out with scorn and Vegeta's white teeth flashed in response.

"Of course. She's a tasty piece of ass and she knows how to keep a man happy while he's under her fine care." Vegeta stretched, turning his back on the infuriated man. "Yep, life's good. I don't have to worry about anyone finding me or trying to punishing me for my crimes and when I'm done I can just kill the woman and get back to doing what I was doing before." Vegeta turned back around, his hellish eyes locking with the man's, an evil grin shadowing his face. "Destroying the world."

The man's eyes widened before narrowing with determination. "You bastard! You won't succeed. I will stop you." He hissed confidently.

Vegeta threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Oh, like you stopped me last time. That will be the day. You and your men are nothing but dogs at my feet, cringing in terror while I beat you mercilessly. I would have more of a challenge from a battalion of shrieking women."

The man's eyes bled red at the sight of Vegeta's amusement and his teeth cracked as he grated them together in frustration. The man reached for the control panel on the side of the wall, intending of disengaging the force field so he could reach the murderer who stood protected inside of the shield. Vegeta's lips peeled back into a genuine smile at the sight and he braced himself to leap on the freedom that was about to present itself.

"What the hell, do you think you are doing?" Bulma screamed, while rushing across the room. Vegeta hissed angrily as she pushed the man away from the panel, while spitting profanities.

"I'm going to fucking kill him!" The man roared with ferocious intensity, his veins protruding from his forehead and his face nearly purple with rage as he jabbed a finger in Vegeta's direction. Bulma took a step back almost colliding with the force field and Vegeta responded to her fear with an audible snarl. The intruder's gray eyes pierced Bulma through and she stiffened, hardening her resolve. She was Bulma Briefs, she cowered to no one.

"General Lee, I am going to have to ask you to leave my lab. This is a restricted area." She stepped forward boldly, taking charge of her domain with the ease of a queen. With a subtle tilt of her head she motioned to Asuka, who picked up the phone inconspicuously.

"Leave? You dare to order me about. You are housing the most wanted criminal in the world and you think you can tell me what to do? That man is wanted in every country from the Atlantic to the Pacific. You will hand him over this instant!" He demanded, drawing himself up authoritatively.

"I will do no such thing, General. This man is quite dangerous and I can't allow some ignorant fool to try and take him away from these secured quarters." Bulma's snide clip rolled off her tongue, slapping the arrogant man across the face. As impossible as it seemed, the General's face became even redder and he sputtered brokenly.

"Are you calling the military foolish?" He hissed.

"No I am calling _you_ foolish. You have no idea what Vegeta is capable of. You don't have the proper understanding to incarcerate him."

"You will hand him over immediately. That is an order."

"No." The word weighed ten tons, dropping on the room like a cannon ball. General Lee stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. No one disobeyed him, especially a woman. She needed to learn her place. She was a perfect example as to why women shouldn't be allowed to do anything but cook, clean and breed children.

"You bitch! You will do as I say this instant." He stepped forward menacingly and Bulma clenched her fists by her sides, but she held her ground defiantly. He reached for the door lock panel to her left, but Bulma pushed him violently away. Anger boiled up and blood pounded behind her eyes, causing her to see a hint of red. How dare this impertinent, public servant tell her what to do. She was the richest woman on the planet and she always got what she wanted. And what she wanted was Vegeta.

"Stay away from him. He's mine. I won't allow you to have him." She hissed. At her words her anger drained away leaving behind a wave of mortifying shock. What the hell was she saying? Behind the General the lab doors slid open to reveal a security detail. Bulma quickly regained her composure, spearing the General with her icy gaze.

"You are going to have to leave now, sir." She motioned towards the detail and they moved forward. "Please see the General to the door. He's leaving."

General Lee's narrowed, slate gray eyes locked on her small form. "I will be back and you are going to regret this, Miss Briefs." His vow was laced with menace and Bulma's fists clenched in the folds of her lab coat. General Lee turned on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving behind a stunned audience.

Bulma turned her icy blue eyes onto Yamshita. "What the hell do you think you were doing, you idiot? You were supposed to be watching him." The man cringed away from her wrath and Vegeta snickered. It was nice to see her ire directed at someone else for a change. His amusement only grew, mixing with the seed of hope that had settled in his stomach. Vegeta's calculating gaze had raked over General Lee as he had argued with Bulma. He had seen men like that before. Heady with their own sense of power, they rarely gave the consequences of their actions any real thought. Vegeta had no doubt that the man would be back and his visit would not be a pleasant one. For the inhabitants of this planet at least. A sly smile formed on Vegeta's lips.

"I was just giving him a tour when he said that he needed to visit the men's room. How was I supposed to know that he was going to give me the slip?" Yamshita was getting paler by the minute, the realization of his mistake becoming clearer.

"You moron, do you know what you have done? They are going to come back and take Vegeta away." Yamshita opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by Bulma. "You're fired. Clear out your desk and get out of my sight." She turned her back on the man, dismissing him from her presence. He shot her a look of hard anger before he left the lab, but he was unnoticed by Bulma who was pacing frantically.

She began to chew her nails, a habit she had developed when she was stressed. What was she going to do? They would be back in a matter of hours, a day at the most. Could she possibly move Vegeta that quickly? Was she willing to risk everything, her corporation, her family, her life, just to save a monster? Could she do that? She dropped down into a chair, massaging her temples in despair.

Asuka walked up to her, silently handing her a glass of water and two aspirin. Bulma looked up at the sympathetic woman. "What I'm I going to do Asuka?"

"They only thing you can do. Hand him over." The woman replied quietly. Bulma looked back at her stricken.

"I-I can't do that. At best they will execute him for his crimes. At worse they will dissect him." Bulma's voice was frail and deep lines engraved themselves on her forehead. She heard a distinctive snort and she looked over at Vegeta. He was leaning up against the door frame, his arms crossed and a devilish smirk curling on his lips.

"You worry too much woman." His voice was deep with wicked promises of destruction and Bulma felt her panic multiply by hundred times. Whatever Vegeta was planning it could only mean one thing.

Armageddon.

Dread settled deep in the pit of her stomach and she felt nausea rise up to swamp her. Whatever she did, she could not allow the government to release Vegeta from his prison. The havoc he would wreck would devastate mankind. She quickly stood and turned on her heel. She had a lot of work to be done in a few short hours.

She spent the rest of the day calling in every favor she had ever held. She spoke with high ranking politicians, influential citizens, anyone she could think of that could help her in her plight, but she was met was resistance everywhere she turned. Nobody wanted to be involved with a dangerous man like Vegeta. They all agreed that the only solution was to hand him over to the military. No one seemed to understand the power that he was capable of wielding, even after seeing the way his comrade had ripped through the army only months before. They refused to believe that such strength was possible and no one believed her when she told them that only she could keep him caged.

She only had one choice left. Relocation. She had to move Vegeta to someplace no one could find him. A place that wasn't connected to Capsule Corps in any fashion and was safe from prying eyes. She needed someone to help her as well. She wouldn't be able to watch over Vegeta nor would she have the facilities or manpower needed to maintain him. She needed someone who could watch Vegeta twenty-four seven and knew how dangerous he was to society. Someone she could trust.

Bulma sank down in her seat, desperately trying to rub away the headache that was pounding behind her eyes. She only had one choice. All of her warrior friends had gone off to Namek. There was no one left on Earth who really knew what Vegeta was, besides herself and one other person.

Chi Chi.

Bulma took a shaky breath of resolve and gathered up her things.

Bulma landed her hover jet a few yards away from the cheery house, nervousness rioting in her stomach. The front door opened before Bulma could make it all the way across the yard and a dark haired woman raced out to greet her with a hug. She hugged Chi Chi back, realizing how much she had missed her friend and how long it had been since she had done anything outside of working long hours in her lab.

Chi Chi pulled back, smiling happily at the blue haired woman. She had been stuck out in the woods without anyone to talk to for so long she almost forgotten how to say hi.

"Bulma, I'm so glad you stopped by for a visit. It seems like it's been ages since I have seen anyone." She chirped happily while leading her friend into the house.

Bulma felt a stab of guilt. Even though she had been busy with her own problems she should have taken time out to at least call Chi Chi. The last few years had been even harder on the young woman, with the loss of her husband, her son being kidnapped and now they had ran off to another planet, leaving her alone yet again.

"I'm sorry Chi Chi, I should have called or stopped by sooner." Bulma allowed herself to be led into the house and sat at the kitchen table.

"Yes you should have." Chi Chi snapped, but a smile quickly softened her features. True she was a dragon, but mostly it was a game that she played with her friends. Everyone knew that she was soft inside. "No matter, you are here now. Chamomile?" She offered Bulma a cup of healing tea. Just one look at the blue haired woman told a story of stress that could not be solved with just one cup of tea, but it was a start.

Bulma accepted it gratefully, allowing the soothing taste to calm her nerves. Chi Chi sat down opposite of Bulma and sipped her own tea, while watching the other woman carefully. That sat in silence for a moment, each enjoying the company of another woman, before Chi Chi finally broke the mood.

"So are you going to tell me why you are here?" She questioned softly. Chi Chi was never a fool and she knew Bulma wasn't here for a social visit.

Bulma blushed and dropped her head. Chi Chi already knew that Bulma had Vegeta imprisoned in her lab. In fact, she had been the one friend who hadn't objected to the arrangement. She had held back, watching silently as the warriors of their group had argued that it was cruel to imprison the man and that they should let him return to space.

Slowly she revealed the occurrences of the last few hours to her attentive friend, before finally asking for the favor that she had come here seeking.

"If I built the cage and transported him here, will you watch him? Make sure he gets fed and everything. You don't have to spend time with him, just make sure that he doesn't starve or anything." Silence descended on the room and Bulma looked up to see Chi Chi's narrow black eyes piercing her through.

"No." Her single word reply devastated the silence and shocked Bulma for a minute. Her brow creased and she took a deep breath.

"But why? This is the last place anyone would look for him. I can't keep him anywhere else and we both know we can't let him loose on the world." Bulma argued effectively. This was her last hope. If Chi Chi said no, then Bulma didn't know what she was going to do.

"I said no Bulma. I am not letting that murderer anywhere near my home." Chi Chi picked up both their cups and set them in the sink, turning her back on her friend. Bulma stood up taking a step forward, reaching for her.

"But, what am I supposed to do? I thought you agreed that imprisoning him was best for everyone."

Chi Chi whirled around, anger flushing her cheeks. "No, I never agreed on any such thing!" She snapped. Bulma dropped her extended hand and took a step back from the enraged woman.

"But if you agreed with the boys, why didn't you say anything then?" Bulma queried, a pounding headache reforming between her eyes.

"I never said I agreed with Goku and the boys." Chi Chi turned away, crossing her arms over her chest and stared absently out the window at the mountain peaks in the distance. Bulma frowned at her back, now thoroughly confused.

"Well you didn't want to let him go and you didn't want to incarcerate him. What did you want us to do with him?"

Chi Chi was quiet for long minutes before answering. She took a deep breath, sighing sadly. "You should have killed him." Her words echoed through the room and Bulma's stunned gaze never left her back.

"What? I could never do that." Bulma gasped, her breath strangled in her throat.

Chi Chi whirled towards her in a fury, her eyes sparkling with hate. "Why not? He's a killer, a murderer. Because of him our friends are dead. Tien, Chi-otsu." She paused a heartbeat before driving her point home. "Yamcha." Bulma dropped her eyes away from the penetrating gaze of her friend. The old pain awoke, hand and hand with the hate that she once felt for Vegeta. Did she still feel that way? Or had it just been stowed away, waiting for the appropriate time to raise its ugly head.

"Because of him, so much pain has been put on us." Chi Chi dropped her head, her straight black hair, covering her face. "Put on me." She said the last words softly and for the first time, Bulma could see strands of gray gleaming in the younger woman's mass of black hair.

Bulma felt tears forming in the corner of her eyes and she stepped forward to gather her friend up in a comforting hug. Chi Chi had been through so much, it was selfish of Bulma to ask her to care for the very man who had caused her such hardship. They stayed for that for a long while, each drawing strength from the other. They spoke a few more words before finally saying their goodbyes. Bulma promised to visit more often, but the words were empty. They both knew that they had chosen different paths. Bulma harbored the one creature in the universe that Chi Chi abhorred and their friendship cracked under the strain.

Later that evening Bulma wondered back into her darkened lab that was illuminated only by a flickering light emanating from Vegeta's cell. She was weary and disillusioned by her fellow human's ability to reason. How could they turn a blind eye to someone as dangerous as Vegeta? How could they ignore her when she pleaded with them to understand the hazard he presented to the world. She eyed his room curiously finding him ensconced on the comfortable lazy boy staring fixedly at the television screen.

"You know you will wreck your eyes if you watch TV in the dark." She chided tiredly.

He turned his head towards her, the voices from the television drifting through the room.

"…and Psalms 25:8 says that good and upright is the Lord, therefore will he teach sinners in the way."

Bulma's eyes widened and her head whipped towards the television, catching sight of a man wearing a three piece suit and sweating profusely as he gestured animatedly at the cameras. Next to him stood a big haired woman who clutched what Bulma could only surmise as being a mixture between a small dog and a rat in her skinny arms.

"What the hell are you watching?"

"Whatever your backwater planet passes off as religion." He eyed her haughtily, taking note of her haggard appearance.

"I don't thinking watching a TV evangelist is the proper way to learn about religion on Earth." She muttered distastefully.

"Why? Are they untruthful?"

"No." Bulma answered unconvincingly. "Though that much hairspray and blue eye shadow should be illegal." She eyed the woman on the screen again, shaking her head in shame.

"There are a lot of different religions here. They just represent one aspect of it."

"What sort of religions?"

"Oh. I don't know. A bunch." Bulma sighed wearily as she slumped down in her chair, leaning her head heavily on her hand. She didn't notice as Vegeta pushed the mute button on the television and sauntered up to the force field.

"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth." The softly spoken words, crawled down her spine, setting her teeth on edge.

"What?" Bulma looked up at Vegeta in shock. "What did you say Vegeta?" His cold dark eyes pinned her in place, his impassive features freezing her soul cold.

"The wicked and corrupt will reap the whirlwind." His icy voice washed over her, scarring her. They held each others gazes for long minutes, Bulma's mind racing furiously for a solution to Vegeta's eerie behavior.

Suddenly he threw his head back, baying with unabashed amusement. Bulma watched him, wide-eyed, uncertain of what to do. Finally, he regained his composure and he shot her an evil look, a cruel smirk gracing his firm lips.

"What utter bullshit. When I get free from here, I will show you fury from the heavens. The only ones who will be inheriting this mud ball will be the race with enough credits to buy it on the open market." He snickered at her horrified expression. Bulma swallowed convulsively, unable to trust her ability to speak. She backed away from her desk, her eyes never leaving the dangerous predator that grinned at her like she was a five course meal.

Her blood turned to ice at his words and her heart ceased to beat. He was an animal. Kami save them if he ever got free. She turned and fled through the lab doors, his wicked laughter chasing her down the empty corridors.


	7. We Are What We Are

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ, but I adore Vegeta, probably to my own detriment.

Chapter Seven

We are what we are

_You should have killed him._

Chi Chi's words whispered through Bulma's mind. Her vision blurred as she stared down at the scattering of micro chips and metal bits that was meant to be her salvation. She glared at them hopelessly, finally sweeping them from her desk in a fit of frustration, her head sinking into her arms as the parts clattered to the floor.

She rubbed her eyes fiercely on her sleeve, choking back the sobs of despair. What was she going to do? For the first time in her life, she was in a situation that she couldn't control and she hated it. She was overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness and remorse.

Shortly after she had fled Vegeta's lair, she had become aware that her lab was under surveillance by the government. General Lee may not have gotten permission to remove Vegeta yet, but he was making damn certain that she couldn't move him either. Without any other recourse Bulma had retreated to the sub levels of her lab where her precious ship Isis was docked.

She gazed out her window, soaking in the site of the gentle curve of the bow and gleam of metal as it rested in the docking clamps. She lost herself in her fantasies of running away, leaving it all behind and exploring new worlds. A very large part of her would do it too, just forget everything and run, but in the end she knew that she wouldn't get very far before the guilt ate her alive.

She looked sorrowfully at the scattered parts on the floor. After many hours of intense brainstorming she had concocted the idea of creating a collar for Vegeta. A thick band around his neck that would deplete his ki, leaving him as harmless as a normal human man. Once locked into place it would be impossible to remove and no matter where the army took Vegeta, he wouldn't be a threat to the world as long as he wore it. The plan was ingenious, infallible, a perfect work of art. Except for the fact that she didn't have the proper parts to complete the job and everything she used as a substitute failed miserably. Perhaps in a week she could construct something that would be suitable, but at the moment she was out of luck and out of time.

Bulma glanced at the clock, feeling the weight of the world as the second hand ticked by. Her gaze wavered and she turned her head, refocusing on a new object sitting on the upper corner of her desk. Sound receded and the world stopped spinning as that object dominated her sight, an unforgettable reminder of her duties. Gradually, she became aware of a steady thump echoing in her head, the only sound in a sea silence. She exhaled slowly as the sound became clearer and she realized that it was the harsh tick of the clock matching the heavy rhythm of her heart.

So this is what it felt like to be responsible for other people. Bulma felt a cold sweat bead on her brow and trickle down her neck. Icy fingers of inevitability squeezed her heart, reminding her that immortality was the sweet dream of fools. She couldn't allow Vegeta to get free and slaughter the human race. Her brothers and sisters, her grandparents and children. Drawn together by the common bond of humanity, they were all family and Vegeta was going to destroy it all.

Worse of all, he was going to laugh while doing it.

Echoes of his cruel laughter ricocheted through her head, blending with Chi Chi's cries as she stood over her husband's broken body. In the darkness of her mind, the instinctive voice of survival whispered to her, drowning out her ability to reason. Yamcha's face rose up, pleading for her to save them. To save them all.

The door opened and Bulma blinked, turning her attention to her assistant.

"He's back and he brought reinforcements." Asuka stated calmly, as if being invaded by the army was an everyday occurrence. Bulma nodded serenely, her smooth features impassive.

"I will be right there. Stall the General as long as you can." Asuka backed out of the room and Bulma stood slowly. With a quivering hand she reached out and picked up the dart gun loaded with a lethal dose of serum. She tucked it in her belt, at the small of her back, slipping on her lab coat to cover it. She glanced one last time at her beloved ship before turning away and exiting the room.

Bulma walked into the noisy lab, the chatter of people dying down at her entrance. With a nod of her head they filtered out, the news of their impending doom already reaching their ears. They had their orders and they retreated to secure locations throughout the lab, awaiting what could possibly be the worst holocaust to ever befall their precious planet.

She continued forward, her eyes locking with Vegeta's. He stood cockily in the center of the room, dressed in his uniform, complete with white gloves and boots. "Going to a party?" She questioned snidely. He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at her like a cat that had just ate the canary and was now picking his teeth with its dainty bones. Without a word, she walked up to a panel beside the door, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist and began to punch buttons in a random pattern. A slight hiss could be heard in Vegeta's cell and he cocked a questioning brow towards the air vents of his room.

Bulma moved in front of the force field, her face pale and strained. "I corrected the mistake I made with your last cell. I built a mechanism into the oxygen filtration system that releases sleeping gas into the air when the proper command is activated. You will be asleep in five minutes." Her words were calmly spoken, but a subtle tremor wracked her body.

Vegeta's head whipped back around, glaring vicious daggers into her heart. "Turn it off right now, bitch." He hissed vehemently. She shook her head mutely, watching as he abandoned his post in the center of the room to examine the vents. He snarled with fury when he realized there was no way to plug them or avoid breathing the poison that was slowly saturating the air.

He turned around advancing on the force field with deadly menace. "No matter. I will wake up eventually." His voice was a promise of retribution. His freedom was only a heartbeat away. The woman's government was foolishly taking him away from his secure prison and when he awoke the entire world would pay for the humiliation he had suffered at her hands. Something flashed in Bulma's usually bright eyes. A hint of darkness, a growing shadow that caused his gut to twist.

She turned away, rubbing the back of her neck as she walked up to her desk. He saw her remove something from the behind her back, but the fall of her white coat, shielded the object. There were some soft clicks as she adjusted something in her hand, but he was distracted from her movements when her soft voice drifted to his ears, drowning out the hiss of the filtration system.

"When I was a little girl, I used to play Queen of the World. I was gonna cure disease and invent a potion of eternal youth. I was going to be the most beautiful, smartest Queen ever and everyone was going to love me." Her dulcet tones washed over him, pricking his skin with invisible needles of dread.

"There's your problem woman. You think too small. Why be queen of the world when you can be queen of the universe?" Vegeta looked nervously over his shoulder at the vent, before returning his gaze to Bulma's slender back. Something was wrong. Did she lie? Was it not sleeping gas that she released, but a poison? He crowded closer to the force field and further away from the infected air by the vent. "Besides such a soft-hearted approach to world domination would have ended in failure. People only obey what they fear and scorn what they think they love."

Bulma shrugged, her eyes blurring as she looked down at the gun in her hands, Vegeta's words only reinforcing her determination. She compulsively checked the chamber a second time, seeing the dart that carried the lethal serum. She had cared for Vegeta long enough to know what would kill him and there was no doubt in her mind that her drug would be more than effective.

"I grew up eventually, but I never completely forgot my dreams. A part of me still wants a field of summer strawberries or maybe I'm still waiting for my prince on a white charger to take me away." Tears formed in the corner of her eyes and her voice cracked under the strain. Vegeta who had lost interest in her meaningless meanderings and was glaring at the offending vent again, straightened at the sound.

As she turned, his eyes raked over her, taking in the white brackets around her mouth and the shadowed pools of her eyes. Tears poured over her ashen cheeks and clenched tightly in her right hand was a shiny metal gun. Vegeta's heart thudded at the sight and his coal black eyes locked with her blue ones.

"What are you doing, woman?" He questioned sharply, disbelief evident in his tone. This little human had the gall to preach to him about the sins of murder while all the time she harbored the ability to kill in her heart. Worse she planned to murder him while he slept under the spell of her gas, bequeathing him a coward's death and not the honor of dying in battle. Did she really think she had the fortitude to kill him? It was obvious from the way she was trembling that she could barely stand under her own power. His body relaxed and he grinned wolfishly at her, confident that she would break. "You won't do it. You are too weak."

The shining ivory of his fangs glistened under the light and Bulma couldn't suppress her shivers. Bile rose up, threatening to choke her and she locked her teeth together, swallowing it down. "Why do you have to be so evil, Vegeta? Why are you such a monster?" Her strained words that she spat out through clenched teeth wiped his smile away and his natural biting intensity returned. He leaned up against the door jam, crossing his arms and ankles in a false projection of nonchalance. His eyes told a different story as he examined her with a predatory gaze.

"I am what I am." His words were dark with the certainty of untold universal truths. You can't change what you are no matter how much someone else wants you to be differently.

"But why?" More tears poured from her eyes like a waterfall spilling from a fathomless well of sorrow. She looked at him so longingly, as though he had the answers that would make her world whole again. As if she could just understand his reasons, then she could understand him, but she would never be about to comprehend him, because she could not conceive of the torment that was his life. Of all her book learning and grand inventions, she had never experienced life as he had seen it and never would.

He shrugged, looking away from the unchecked emotion that shone in her eyes. "Dunno." He glanced at the television screen, repeating something he had heard in the dark of night as he sat alone, caged in his cell. "A product of my environment I suppose." He looked back at her, hot anger blazing in his eyes. "You're the genius. Why don't you tell me?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, spilling more tears as she shook her head from side to side, unable to stomach the loathing and animosity directed towards her. His words did nothing to satisfy her, to abate the churning in her soul. "What could you have possibly seen to make you this hateful? This horrific."

He snorted at her, disgust curling his lip. He looked away, concentrating his attention on the vent. He could smell a hint of gas in the air now and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before he became helpless before the woman. "Not just what I have seen, but what I have done. My entire life is a hell that only the strongest could survive. Something a sheltered, weak creature like yourself could never understand."

Bulma looked down at her toes, an irrational voice in the back of her mind wondering why she chose to wear heels today instead of sensible running shoes. "So you are a monster because you've had a tough life? Lots of people have it rough."

Anger shot through Vegeta at her words and he shot up from his relaxed pose, growling with poorly repressed fury. How dare she belittle his sacrifices under the rule of his lizard master. The sacrifices of his people. "Frieza..." He started before cutting himself off abruptly. Why, suddenly for the first time in his life was he tempted to make excuses for his behavior. He was a bastard and he was proud of it. He enjoyed annihilating worlds and exterminating entire races. That's what he did. He purged planets and he was damned good at it. "I'm a killer and you will remember that when I'm ripping your world apart. Maybe I will leave you for last so you can see the smoking ruin that I will leave behind. You haven't lived until you smelt burnt flesh in the wind." He purred with perverse pleasure as he watched her skin become paler and her tears form into rivers.

She dropped her head into her hand, her sobs wracking her body. "I won't let you do it. You hear me? I won't let it happen, not when I can stop it." She choked on her sobs, hugging the gun closer to her body. Too late, Vegeta realized his mistake and he berated himself for allowing his rampant tongue to get the better of him once again. Desperately, he scrambled to repair the damage he had caused with his thoughtless words. If she wasn't going to kill him before, she certainly was now.

"Don't be foolish. You're not a killer. You wanted to be Queen of the World, remember?" Vegeta grimaced at his words, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. She just continued to sob, turning her back on him once again. Vegeta swallowed and his lungs began to burn as the poisonous air made its way to him. Urgency gnawed at him enhancing the dread that was slowly engulfing him.

He leaned closer to the force field, his wicked voice dropping to a husky pitch as he coaxed the woman in front of him. "Don't tell me you want to be like me. A murderer. Do you know what it is like to see the life drain out of someone's eyes? To have their screams echo around you long after they are dead? Do you want the last thing you see before you fall asleep to be my face, lax with death, and the first thing you see when you wake up? Do you want to visit my grave between your waking hours, when you mind wonders through the realm of dreams?"

Bulma's sobbing became more wretched and her body shook under the onslaught. His words wove themselves around her, binding her in an unbreakable hold of guilt. She knew he spoke the truth. He reached into her mind and plucked the words right from her. She would never be able to look in the mirror again and her remorse would suffocate her with its cloying thickness. She shook her head. She knew it was a small price to pay, for the preservation for her world. She had to do it. She had no choice.

"And I will be there, Bitchess." His pet name for her, struck her hard. How she hated that name and yet whenever he said it she felt something flutter deep inside. It wasn't the word as much as it was the tone. A controlled caress of affection that hid an underlying violence of passion that could not be denied. "I will be in your dreams every night, reminding you of your crime. You won't be able to withstand the guilt. You are too puny, too weak. You cannot survive." His conviction rang out across the room, slapping Bulma harshly. She dried her tears, straightening her bent spine, sniffing as she turned to face him.

He looked into the swirling darkness in her eyes and his hand tightened into a fist. He could see his defeat in the twilight shadows and cold sweat rolled down his neck. "It must be done." Her simple words underscored his fate and his head whirled as the poison seeped into his cells. He slid down the portal, dropping to his knees before the shield.

"Bitchess." He whispered one last time. Not a word of pleading, but a word of respect. She would face her own demon and remain strong. For all of her fragility, she had the heart of a fighter.

"Sleep well Vegeta." Bulma whispered back as the darkness closed in on him and the knowledge that he would not awaken accompanied him into the abyss.


	8. Dance With the Devil

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ however my dreams of keeping Vegeta naked and chained to my bed are all mine.

Chapter Eight

Dance with the Devil

The first sensation that Bulma became aware of was a dull ache that radiated out from her scalp and traveled like a legion of fire ants to her jaw.  She could feel the sting of cold tiles beneath her cheek and their icy chill penetrated the very marrow of her bones.  In a distance, distorted by the white fog that surrounded her, she could hear a muffled whimper of terror.

Her brow creased in confusion and she winced at the pain the movement brought her.  Bulma struggled for an explanation for why she was prone on the floor with the mother of all headaches rampaging through her thoroughly damaged skull, but her memory was frustratingly riddled with black holes.  As she rose to the surface of consciousness, pangs of trepidation swamped her, urging her back down into the refuge of sleep.

Ignoring the cries of her instincts she slowly opened her eyes and met the cold, steel gaze of General Lee.  She started with surprise, unable to comprehend why he was lying on the icy floor with her.  Slowly, terror crept into the corners of her brain, crouching in the darkness, growling with menace, filling her soul with heart wrenching despair.  General Lee's gray eyes stared sightlessly out from under a thin, milky film that was spreading over his corneas with inevitable slowness.  A tear of blood pooled at the corner of his eye, sliding to the end of his nose before falling into an ever growing crimson lake that surrounded Bulma and saturated her white lab coat.  The scarlet fluid used the jacket's unblemished purity as a canvas to paint a sick portrait of depravity and horror.  General Lee's face was etched into a mask of disbelief from witnessing his own death at the hands of a ruthless killer, who knew neither mercy nor regret.

Suddenly memories slammed into Bulma leaving her breathless.  She had been standing over Vegeta as he knelt before her, nearly succumbing to the gas that infused his room.  At that moment, General Lee had burst into the lab, striding across the room like a vengeful god.  She had stepped in front of him, her arms wide, in an attempt to stop him, but he brushed her aside effortlessly.  She had latched onto his arm, pulling him away from the lock, aware the entire time of Vegeta's hell-bent eyes watching the scene, only seconds away from losing consciousness.

The General had rounded on her wordlessly, raising the butt of his rifle and bringing it down on her temple in a vicious attempt to silence her cries of protest.  Her head exploded into a starburst of dazzling light and agony as she flew back into the force field only to rebound with a sizzle of burnt hair.  She collapsed bonelessly onto the floor and as she slipped into the darkness she heard the dangerous growl of a wild animal reverberate throughout the room.

Bulma shivered as she let her eyes drift closed.  She didn't want to raise her head and survey the destruction that she knew awaited her.  She wanted to fall back into the painless slumber that brought with it the bliss of ignorance.  A soft feminine whimper invaded her senses again and fear shot through Bulma.  As much as she wanted to close her eyes and turn away, she could not abandon her responsibilities.  Who was crying?  Who else was hurt, because of her failure?

Carefully, so not to jar her already throbbing head, Bulma lifted her eyes to view the room.  It was in complete shambles.  Desks were overturned, papers were strewn haphazardly across the floor and black marks scorched the walls.  An overhead light hung by one end, swaying slightly, creaking and groaning as if in pain.   Its power cord hissed and sparked as it swept against the tiled floor, snapping its jaws like a venomous snake.  The bodies of the men the General had brought with him lay twisted and broken on the floor, shell casings from their rifles littering the ground around them.

Her eyes instantly sought the one creature that caused all this destruction.  All this madness.  Vegeta stood motionless in the center of the room, silently facing a contingent of her security detail that was drawing down on him from the doorway.  They were armed with pistols that were loaded with her serum, the only thing that could stop Vegeta now.  Asuka had accompanied the General into the lab, trying to stall him as long as possible, but now she stood within the powerful cage of Vegeta's arms as he kept her between him and the armed guards.  It was apparent from Vegeta's defensive stance that he was wary of their weapons and was more than likely deciding if he had regained enough strength to whisk by them unharmed.

Asuka sniffled continuously but remained standing with little help from Vegeta.  In fact she held herself as far as possible from the man, while trying unsuccessfully to shrink herself.  Bulma glanced around, her eyes alighting on the object of her salvation as well as her damnation.  With a shaking hand she reached out stealthily, watching Vegeta for any sign that he knew she was awake while she pulled her gun closer to her.

She swallowed as she looked down at her weapon.  She only had one shot and if she missed the whole world would burn for her mistake.  Her vision wavered and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.  She knew that she probably had a concussion and may pass out again at anytime.  Silently she removed the deadly dart from its chamber and examined it carefully.  If she got close enough she could inject the serum into him manually, thus eliminating any mistakes from poor aim. 

She brushed her sleeve over her eyes, the white fabric staining red from the blood at her temple.  She said a silent prayer, before sliding the dart up the sleeve of her coat and pushing herself to her knees.  Everyone in the room instantly became aware of her movement.  Her guard yelled at her to skirt around to the exit, but Vegeta merely cocked his head so he could observe her without taking his eyes off the men.  Asuka began to sob brokenly and Bulma felt a spike of guilt for allowing this situation come to pass.  She should have moved quicker, executing Vegeta while she had a chance, but instead she had wallowed in her own fear and doubt of killing another living person.

Bulma took a shaky step forward, belatedly realizing how hurt she really was.  She took a moment to clear her vision before taking another unsteady step.  Instead of moving towards the exit she staggered up to Vegeta, causing him to shift a quarter turn so he could face her and the guards at the same time.  She heard a whisper of laughter in the back of her mind at the thought that Vegeta was cautious not to turn his back on her.

She stopped a few feet from Vegeta, knowing that she would never get close to him as long as he felt threatened.  She turned towards her security, drawing herself up as regally as possible in her broken state, desperately trying to project her natural authority.

"Leave us."  Her voice was strangled and she frowned at the reedy pitch.  The men shifted but did not lower their weapons or take their eyes from Vegeta.

"Miss Briefs…"  Her head of security began, but she cut him off.

"I said leave us."  She demanded in a more strident tone meant to be obeyed.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Briefs."  Her head of security protested.  He looked uncomfortable uttering the words, but he remained unwavering.  He knew he was in danger of losing his job, but it was his duty to protect this lab and its employees and that was what he was going to do.

Bulma grit her teeth and glared at the man.  "Tanaka, you will do as I say.  You are needed elsewhere."  Her words were meant to remind him of their plan of attack if Vegeta ever escaped the lab.  They were to retreat and set up various checkpoints throughout the corridors and ambush Vegeta as he passed by.  Their hope was to incapacitate him before he made it to the surface and began his goal of world annihilation.  "Don't worry.  I have everything under control here."

Her words must have reached him, because he hesitated and for the first time he turned his gaze towards her.  He winced at her bloody appearance, but he saw the conviction in her eyes.  Tanaka knew that his superior would sacrifice herself, before anyone else in the quest to bring Vegeta to heel.  They had discussed this very scenario many times and always Bulma insisted that she be given the opportunity to confront Vegeta first.  Everyone agreed that she was the only person who had a successful chance of getting near him, even if it meant her death.  Slowly, Tanaka lowered his weapon and dipped his head in respect and admiration.  Bulma was truly brave and he would miss her presence if he survived this holocaust.

At his word the guards backed out of the room, their guns aimed at Vegeta until the door slid closed.  Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold, almost forgetting about the bundle he held in his arms.  His lip curled as he watched the woman who only minutes before was going to ruthlessly murder him while he slept, standing only a few feet away, without any barrier protecting her.

"Well isn't this cozy?"  He sneered, while eyeing Bulma cautiously.  He had known the woman long enough to know she was up to something, but he didn't know what.  He furtively searched the room for her gun, finding it discarded by the General's body.  He found it hard to believe that the woman would forget her weapon at a time like this, but perhaps she was more frazzled than she let on.

"It could be."  Bulma looked pointedly at Asuka and Vegeta glanced down at the woman trapped in his arms.  Her face was red with tears and her wide, hopeful eyes watched Bulma's every move.  It was obvious by her facial expression that she expected the woman to save her.  Vegeta's hand tightened around Asuka's throat and she winced but did not struggle.  Bulma took another step forward, but Vegeta's cold eyes stopped her. 

"Let her go, Vegeta."  Bulma demanded softly and Vegeta grinned wolfishly at her.  He saw the alarm flash in the woman's eyes and he enjoyed it.  It was his turn to be in control, to have the power.  He was going to punish the woman for her sins against him.

"Why should I?"  His tone was as soft as hers, but it had an underlying hint of menace.  He was a cat playing with a mouse before he rent it apart with his claws.

"Then we could be alone."  Bulma met his onyx eyes, fear and pain pounding through her head, echoing in her ears, but she refused to look away from what she dreaded most.  Her murderer.  Her executioner.  She took a step forward and Vegeta stiffened.  "You do want to be alone with me don't you Vegeta?" 

His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of freshly spilt blood and terror that permeated her, nearly overpowering her natural aroma.  Her jacket was drenched in the General's blood and her own flowed from the wound on her temple, coating half her face in a scarlet mask.  Her blue hair tumbled alluring down her back, the tips dyed darker by gore. She looked like a savage goddess, bent on drinking the blood of her enemies while subduing her unwilling lovers.  His grip tightened on Asuka's neck and he lifted her up onto the tips of her toes.  She strained under his hand and she whimpered for Bulma to save her.  Bulma panicked and took another step forward, but Vegeta's snarl forestalled her.

"I could easily solve that problem."  He hissed with deadly promise and Bulma gulped.  Her hands reflexively curled with the need to reach out and pull Asuka from Vegeta's grasp.

"You don't want to kill her Vegeta."  Bulma whispered softly, daring to take another small step towards the lethal warrior.

"Oh?"  He fought back the laughter that bubbled in his throat at the woman's antics.  She struggled so hard to regain control of the situation, when it was nothing more than an illusion.  This scene would play out exactly how he wanted it too and he would have the revenge that he thirsted for.  "And what, pray tell exactly do I want?"

Bulma quivered at his words and she looked away from his sinfully black eyes, glancing at Asuka a moment before regaining her courage.  Her clear cerulean eyes met his again and with conviction that she did not feel she uttered her doom.

"Me."  She knew in her heart that Vegeta was only playing with her.  She had come intimately familiar with Vegeta's goals as he had suffered under her care.  Her painful death, the destruction of her world and finally his escape to Namek.  If she was smart she could reorder those goals to her advantage, but the risk was daunting.

Vegeta felt something strike him hard at her single word, awakening a deep seated craving within his wicked heart.  There was something satisfying about her acceptance of her fate.  She was offering herself to him, willingly, openly and he couldn't stop the heat that shot through him as he gazed at her.

"Why can't I have you both?"  His velvet words were a dark caress, moving them beyond this realm into their own reality where words were their domain.  Asuka dried her tears and watched them closely, confusion etched on her features.  It seemed that even though they were talking about her, they had forgotten completely about her presence.

Vegeta felt a shiver run though him as a spark of anger lit in Bulma's eyes.  He leaned closer to Asuka, sniffing her skin while never breaking eye contact with the woman.  Bulma felt something dark and dangerous move inside of her as she watched Vegeta inhale Asuka's soft scent.  She couldn't name the emotion, but the anger that followed it was intense.

"She is nothing to you.  She had nothing to do with your incarceration.  It was me who caged you."  Her voice dropped down into a sly whisper and her eyes narrowed with malice.  "It was me who defeated you."  She saw the flash of rage in Vegeta's eyes at her callous reminder and she took the last step forward, closing the gap between them and placing a dainty hand on his forearm.  They both felt a jolt of electricity at the contact, but they struggled to hide it from the other.  She leaned forward, whispering into his sensitive ear.  "It's me you want to kill."  She lured with a silky invitation.

Vegeta shoved Asuka away from him furiously, not even glancing in her direction as she darted from the room.  He was uncaring of her escape, knowing that she would lay dead like all the others in a matter of moments anyways.  His true prey was only a heartbeat away.  His hand snapped up, encircling Bulma's delicate throat and pulling her close.  He raised his other hand, heating a ball of indigo ki in his palm.  He watched as the blue light danced across her porcelain features, heating her flesh to a rosy hue.  Shadows swirled in her wide cerulean eyes that were fringed in thick teal lashes.  She did not flinch away, but held his gaze courageously.  In her heart she prayed that he would not want to end it so soon, that all of his anger at her would clamor for slow and deliberate satisfaction.

He released the ball, hurtling it passed her head, displacing her teal hair in a whirl of heat.  She started as it exploded against the door, melting the locking mechanism in place, destroying her only hope for escape.

"There, now it's just the two of us.  Just like you wanted."  He sounded as though he had granted her greatest desire instead of fulfilling her death wish.  He brushed the rough pad of his thumb over her trembling lower lip.  He had never, in all his travels, felt anything as incredibly soft as that rose petal lip.  Bulma's heart pounded and her mouth was dry from fear.  She had successfully saved Asuka's life, now could she save her own and the entire populace of the planet while she was at it?  Unconsciously, her tongue darted out to slick over her lip, flickering lightly against Vegeta's thumb.  His smoldering eyes captured hers and she swallowed hard as apprehension swamped her, the fathomless abyss of Vegeta's onyx pits only multiplying her dread.

Lightning struck Vegeta.  It originated at the pad of his thumb, snaking down his muscular arm to squeeze his chest until he couldn't breathe.  Pleasure raced through him, igniting his veins and capillaries with liquid fire, burning him from the inside out.  His face darkened with desire and he knew that he had to hide the reaction his body had at her innocent touch.  Not the lust.  No he would never hide his lust for her.  It was his power.  His control over her.  But there was something else, moving and breathing just beneath the layer of yearning.  Something ultimately dangerous.

He spun her around in his arms, so that he held her much like he had Asuka.  He fitted her tightly against his body, her soft curves melting into his hard frame.  The wet blood from her coat, soaked into his armor, slicking against his skin.  The acidic smell of charred bodies and thick, metallic blood in the air called to the cruel demon that resided beneath his skin.  His hand rested lightly over her collar bone, the rise and fall of her breasts pressing against his palm.  He leaned close to her, inhaling deeply.  His keen senses deciphered the distinct aroma of only her blood, which was so much more enticing than any he had ever scented before. 

When General Lee had struck her he had felt intolerable rage, even in his drugged state.  His anger was born from another man daring to strike what he had claimed as his prey.  Nothing would happen to the woman unless he deemed it so.  If he wanted her to be beaten by another then it would be he that ordered it, not because another thought he had the right to lay a hand on her.  Because of his indiscretion the General had died first, screaming in fear at the bloodthirsty fiend that he had unknowingly set free.

"What are we going to do now, Bitchess?"  He whispered the words in her ear and he could hear her breath hitch in her throat at the suggestive tone.  He leaned closer, his velvety tongue darting out and lapping at the blood that coated her cheek.  Her taste was exactly how he imagined.  Smooth with a hint of spice, like a fine wine distilled just for him.  Her flavor was intoxicating and he wanted to taste more of her, to devour her as she bled her lifeblood for him.  Years of enslavement under Frieza had taught him that ownership was total submission to your master and the thought of possessing the blue-haired witch that caused him so much humiliation made his own blood sing.  He relished the shiver that flowed through her body and hard, biting lust roused itself within his loins.  He pressed his solid erection against the soft curve of her hip and he indulged in another taste of her crimson nectar.

Bulma felt the wet heat that shot through her body and the hard jut of Vegeta's manhood against her thighs.  Her mind shut down in a panic and all her plans for survival flew out the proverbial window.  The feel of his tongue on her check, awakened a primal response in her that she had never felt before.  All the adrenaline that rushed through her veins, stringing her every nerve ending taunt with nervous expectation was easily turned into dark passion, but the trepidation remained just beneath the surface.  Her fight or flight instincts still clamored loudly even as the desire swam through her veins.  Quickly, she regained her composure and cleared her throat.  She could not allow this to get out of hand or she would end up dead in a pool of her own blood while her world was ravaged.

She leaned into him, rubbing herself temptingly against his hardness.  She felt his acceptance of her invitation and she tilted her head to the side, revealing more of the pale smoothness of her exposed neck.  He greedily slid his lips and tongue against her pulse, savoring the taste of her salty skin and spicy blood.  She allowed her hand to rest against his solid thigh, digging her nails into the bulge of muscle.  He scrapped his teeth over her flesh, wracking shivers of pleasure through her body.  It seemed that all of her senses were heightened, the threat of danger making the sensations so much more intense than she had ever experienced before.

She fought for clarity in her clouded mind, desperately reminding herself that she was fighting for the salvation of her world, not courting a lusty fuck on her desk.  She eyed a broken corpse of a man, instantly sobering her hazy thoughts.  She rotated her wrist, releasing the dart from her sleeve and into her hand.  She placed her thumb over the injector while leaning heavily against Vegeta and moaning loudly to distract him from her movement.

She plunged the dart towards his thigh, only to be brought up short by the crushing pressure of Vegeta's fingers banding around her wrist.  He squeezed painfully, until her weapon fell from her nerveless fingers and clattered onto the floor.  Bulma's heart raced and all the blood drained from her face.  She felt helpless tears well up in her eyes and another wave of dizziness washed over her as she struggled valiantly not to faint.

Vegeta almost laughed out loud at the woman's predictability.  He knew that she would never succumb to his caresses so easily, not while she still had hope of beating him.  No her submission would only come after everything she loved was torn away from her and she was alone.  With only him to turn to in the darkness.  He waited until she made her motives known then he moved to intercept her.  Now she was weaponless and helpless to his will.  His delectable, little pet.

"Tsk, tsk.  Such a blood thirsty little vixen you are."  His mocking words were followed by the sharp pain of his incisors biting deeply into the ridge of her shoulder, punishing her for her transgression against him.  She keened brokenly in the back of her throat, like a wounded animal caught in steel fanged trap.

"You can't kill me Vegeta."  She wailed, struggling fruitlessly to remain calm in the face of this new adversity. 

Vegeta chuckled darkly behind her, his breath feathering over her slender neck raising goose bumps on her flesh.  "Oh?"  He questioned while his wet tongue swiped over her new wound, sipping the blood that welled up from the mark.  Bulma gulped loudly and Vegeta grinned against her skin at the sound.

"Eventually you are going to want to get off this planet.  Unless you are planning to spend the rest of your life surrounded by rotting corpses."  Bulma's voice broke at her words, images of death and ruination dancing in her head.  "And I am the only person on this world that has a ship."

Vegeta smirked and ran his other hand lightly down her side, his fingers sliding against her ribs.  She was so fragile beneath his grip.  He would have to be careful with her.  He wouldn't want to kill her before he was ready too.  "That's true.  But I don't need you to fly a ship, human.  I have been doing it long before you even knew space travel was possible."

Bulma sneered at his logic.  "Do you think I'm an idiot, Vegeta?"  Bulma was afraid and when she was frightened she lashed out with her vicious tongue, uncaring of the consequences.  Behind her Vegeta smiled while he continued his silent exploration of her body.  He had never taken a woman against her will, finding the act to be beneath him, but he would have this woman no matter her protests.  He was certain they would be short lived as the response of her body to his caresses was something that could not be fabricated.  There was something intensely thrilling about the thought of turning her against herself.  Seducing her into the bed of the monster she despised.  Corrupting her goodness with the taint of sin.

"Is that a rhetorical question, woman?"  Now that Vegeta was free from his cage he felt his natural confidence taking root inside of him.  Now that he was in control, he felt relaxed and downright playful.

Bulma hissed like an angry kitten and futilely fought to escape his grasp.  His wondering hand was igniting all sorts of emotions that she didn't want to examine to closely.

"I know you can fly a ship, dickhead.  But you can't fly mine."  She snapped recklessly.

Vegeta growled in her ear and tightened his grip on her body.  His hand slid between her legs, cupping her mons painfully.  His embrace brought her backside forcefully against his jutting erection that slid between her thighs.

"Watch your mouth, Bitchess.  We wouldn't want you to suddenly lose your ability to speak now would we?"  His other hand drifted up to squeeze her slender throat and Bulma choked on her tongue.

"Funny you should say that."  She wheezed, gasping for air when he loosened his grasp at her words.

"Explain yourself."  He demanded arrogantly.

"My ship, the only ship off this planet is voice activated."  Bulma paused for effect before adding, "My voice to be precise."

Vegeta grinned into her mass of teal hair that was brushing against his face.  She sounded so confident, so arrogant.  His little bitchess was used to being the one giving orders, to have every one jump when she said.  It was hard for her to give up the idea that she no longer had the upper hand, but her struggle to remain in control was delightfully amusing.

"Well I guess that means I will have to keep you around a little longer then."  Vegeta found that he wasn't all that much opposed to the idea.  It would take time to tire of this fiery woman and he would enjoy every minute of it.  "First things first though."  His wicked laughter wound its way down Bulma spine and her blood turned cold.

"If you kill anyone else, I won't pilot the ship for you Vegeta and you won't ever get off this planet to get your precious immortality."  Her voice was thick with scorn, leaving no doubt that she meant every word directed at her tormentor.

Vegeta stiffened at her threat and he felt the ever present anger that simmered constantly inside of him begin to bubble to the surface.  "There are many ways that I can get you to talk, Bitchess."  His quiet words pierced her primordial animal brain and she nearly collapsed with panic.  Her thighs went lax and her knees knocked together.  She had no doubt he was insinuating torture and given the allusions he had made numerous times to his hellish life, he more than likely knew hundreds of methods to make someone talk.

Bulma unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth and tried to swallow a couple of times before replying.  "If you hurt me in any way…"  Bulma pried at Vegeta's hand that was still nestled at her crotch for emphasis.  "I'll…I'll kill myself."  She cried a breathless rush.

Vegeta tightened his grip on the delicate woman.  Her words made his gut twist and he seethed with dark rage.  How dare she utter such nonsense to him?  She would die when he gave her permission to die and not a second before.  He buried his hand into her teal hair and wrenched her head back on her neck so he could look her in the eye.  Her temple was turning a molted purple and he could see were blood was hemorrhaging into her left socket, turning her usually crystal blue eye an eerie red.

"You will do no such thing, woman.  I won't allow it.  Besides you haven't the guts to kill yourself."  He sneered into her upturned face, his angry eyes raking over her.

Her mouth hardened into a severe line and her eyes narrowed with conviction.  "I had the guts to kill you in order to save my world.  Do you think I would hesitate to slit my throat before subjecting myself to the murderer of my people?"

Vegeta's rage finally erupted and in a fit he spun her around grabbing her painfully by the hair and shaking her like a rag doll.  "I'm going to fucking kill you.  I'm going to break you in half, you little bitch!"  He roared with fury while Bulma screamed in terror.  He tossed her away from him and she slid across the floor, colliding with an overturned chair on the way.  As she slid to a stop she curled herself into a ball and began to sob piteously.

Vegeta eyed the frightened woman murderously.  How he hated her.  She always ruined everything with her quick mind and quicker mouth.  He snarled at her huddled form as he thought rapidly about what he was going to do.  He needed to get to Namek as quickly as possible.  He had already been missing for months and Frieza more than likely had scouts out looking for him.  He was going to have to dodge all imperial ships and planets on his journey and he didn't have time for any of the woman's shit.  He couldn't constantly be watching her every second of the day to make sure she didn't slit her own throat.  Hell, with the unnatural amount of stubbornness she possessed she would probably chew her own wrists open like a rabid dog.

He stalked over to her, ignoring the way she flinched away from him.  He plowed his hand into her teal tresses, wrapping it around his fingers and hauling her to her feet.  Once they were nose to nose he looked her in the eye, sneering with disgust at her tear stained countenance.  Once he obtained his goal on Namek, he would exchange ships and kill her.  He should be done with the blue haired witch by then.  He never intended to rape her, but she never said he couldn't entice her into his bed.  Once he had her total submission, her punishment would be complete and then he could dispose of her.  The dark vastness of space was a disheartening place and he had no doubt she would be most vulnerable there. 

After he had killed Frieza and ascended to the throne as its rightful lord then he would come back to this mud ball planet and destroy it once and for all.  Forever erasing his shame at the hands of one small female.

"You are more trouble than you are worth, human."  He spat with distaste, before turning on his heel and striding to the door, dragging her behind him.  Without missing a step he amassed enough energy to blow the door outwards, trailing a wake of fire down the corridor and out the opposite wall.

Cries could be heard echoing down the hall as men dodged out of the way of the destruction.  Bulma and Vegeta moved through the underground passages, slowing so she could order her men to lower their weapons and let them pass.  With every step Vegeta could feel Bulma weakening and he knew that the wound at her temple was worsening.

They entered the ship and without a word and Bulma instantly began to disengage the docking clamps and ignite the engines.  Silent tears streamed down her face as they rose up through the levels of the lab, exiting through the wide doors that slid open until finally blue sky greeted them.  She trembled as she watched everything she loved disappear, until finally all she could see was the blue orb of her planet on the view screen. 

Would she ever see her home again?  Her parents?  Her friends and lover?  Bulma had never been more scared in her life.  She was leaving everything behind, losing herself to the vastness of space, her only companion a murdering mad man who wanted nothing more than to exact his revenge upon her.  She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea washed over her.  She had done it.  She had played her cards and she had kept her world safe, but at what cost?  She knew her immunity from Vegeta's wrath was short lived.  He would not have conceded so easily to her demands unless he didn't already have an alternate plan.

She rasped out the coordinates to the directional computer, setting their course through space.  She turned away, leaning heavily on the console and eyed the door that would lead her to the medical bay.  She needed to look at the cut on her head, but she didn't know if she could make it all the way to the bay.

She was yanked out of her thoughts when Vegeta grabbed her painfully by arm, pulling her into his hard chest.  "You set coordinates that are only three days travel.  Namek is months from here.  Set the proper course woman."  He demanded angrily while ruthlessly shaking her.

His careless handling caused her head to spin and she leaned onto the only solid object she could find, which happened to be Vegeta himself.  She laid her head against his chest, almost surprised to hear the thud of his heart beneath her ear.  For all of his cruelty and wickedness, he was only a man whose heart beat just like any others.

"I'm not stupid Vegeta.  That's my safety net.  That way you have to keep me around and unharmed for the length of the journey.  You need me, so get used to it."  Her tone was thin and reedy.  Her last words were nothing more than a whisper of air before she collapsed entirely into Vegeta's arms.

He caught her out of reflex, his astonishment at her leaning into his arms disappearing as he scooped her up.  He glared at the screen, watching the planet that had been his prison this many months disappeared from view.  He looked down at the unconscious woman he held, asking himself for the billionth time since coming to this quadrant of space, how he had gotten into this mess. 

With a growl of frustration he stalked out of the room, leaving behind the reminder of his failure as they disappeared into the reaches of space, the inhabitants of Earth never knowing how close to death they had actually come.

A/N:

Yes, yes I know.  I have succumbed to the allure of the predictable 'lost in space' scenario, but let's be honest here.  Anyone who hasn't fantasized about being trapped on a ship with Vegeta,

Alone

In the dark

Where no one can hear you scream

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

crickets chirp  someone throws a peanut

Hey!

Besides it will be fun.  I promise.  wink


	9. Fair Trade

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ which is good, because it would have ended up being a completely different story involving whips and chains.

Chapter Nine

Fair Trade

Bulma slowly opened her eyes, blinking blurrily while she tried to focus on the polished metal ceiling.  Oh Kami, it felt like she had been run over by a Mac truck.  Every muscle in her body screamed in agony.  She rolled off the flat steel gurney she had been laying on, her pained groan echoing in the room.

She staggered over to the nearby wash stand that jutted nakedly from the wall, the pipes still embarrassingly visible beneath the basin.  She paused to grimace at herself in the flat mirror bolted above the sink as she turned on the facet and shakily splashed her face with icy water.  She rolled her swollen tongue around in her mouth, pursing her lips at the bitter taste.  It felt like she had slept with wadded up cotton in her mouth that had sopped up every last bit of saliva.  She cupped her hands and brought the cool water up to her lips, drinking it greedily.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, groping for a nearby towel.  As she dried her face, she peered into the mirror, examining the bloody bandage that was wrapped around her throbbing head.  She prodded it with a slender finger, before finally deciding to leave it be.  She frowned at the disgusting image she presented in the mirror.  Her hair was a rat's nest that straggled down over her shoulders in a tangled mess and her mascara had left deep black circles around her eyes, one of which was blood shot and swollen.

"Damn, I'm ugly."  She muttered while warming the tap and reaching for the towel again so she could wet a corner to clean the ruined make-up from her face.

"Glad you finally agree with me."  Vegeta's voice boomed across the room and Bulma clutched her head.  She felt like she had gotten into a fist fight with a couple of leather clad biker bitches and lost.

"What do you want?"  She hissed irritably

"Oh, a multitude of things."  Vegeta lounged in the doorway, his eyes raking over the disheveled woman in front of him.  "But I will settle for some food."

Bulma snorted and finished washing her face with warm water.  Her stomach chose that moment to rumble demandingly and she glanced down at her flat midriff with a frown, before shrugging dismissively.

"Well the galley is two decks down."  She muttered absently while looking for a comb of some sort.  With a sinking feeling, Bulma comprehended that there was no brush, nor was she going to find one on the ship.  With a sneer of disgust at her reflection she pulled off the hair tie that she always kept around her wrist and gathered her hair into a messy pony tail.

"It's empty."  Vegeta retorted with a snide clip, wondering how long it would take until their dire situation would finally become clear to the woman.  Longer than expected, given her quick mind, but he chalked it up to the bump on her head.

Bulma fussed around with her hair a few more moments, checking her bandage again just to be sure.  She was inwardly surprised when she realized that Vegeta must have wrapped her head for her.  It was expertly done, undoubtedly years of experience donning field dressings coming to bear.  She didn't remember much past setting the coordinates for the ship, so she must have fainted shortly thereafter.  She looked down at her clothes and wrinkled her nose at the sight.  She was still wearing the same thing, including her white lab coat that was stiff and crusty with dried blood.  She shrugged it off, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled suit, trying to make her appearance somewhat presentable.

She was going to have to get some clothes somewhere.  It wasn't like she had any packed on the ship or anything else for that matter.  No make-up, no toothbrush, no tampons.  Every thing a girl needs to face the world.  Bulma stuck her tongue out at her reflection.  She hadn't been planning any kind of trip and the ship was suppose to be dry docked for several more months.  This was not the cruise she had in mind when she told her father that she would go on vacation and relax.

Bulma hands slowed their restless wonderings over her clothing and the corner of Vegeta's mouth curled as he watched her eyes widen.  She snapped her head in his direction, causing her to sway slightly at the pain the motion caused her.

"We don't have any food."  She screeched and Vegeta couldn't help but chuckle at the outraged look on her face.

"You're a quick one, aren't you?"  He sneered at her surprised features and she snapped her jaw closed with an audible click.

Bulma paced the small medical room agitatedly as she scrutinized their situation.  There was no food whatsoever on the ship and their water tanks were only about half full.  She started chewing her nails, muttering to herself while Vegeta watched her closely.  The ship itself wasn't even completed and the journey to Namek was a dangerous one.  Most of the equipment on her ship hadn't even been tested for travel yet and she had no idea how they would withstand deep space.

She rounded on Vegeta her finger upraised as a solution struck her.  "Well we have to get some food."  Vegeta rolled his eyes and he shifted his weight, crossing his foot over his ankle as he sighed heavily.

"No shit, dumbass.  Lucky for you, I have already checked the navigational charts and there is a planet, about two days travel from here that we can get food at."  Bulma's face wilted and she bit her lip worriedly.

"Two days?"  She questioned and her stomach growled insistently again.  She looked down with a frown before she glanced back at Vegeta.  "How long was I asleep?"

"About a day."  Vegeta replied uninterestedly.

"What?"  Bulma shrieked and Vegeta automatically hunched his shoulders to protect his ears from the horrendous sound.  "I can't live three days without food.  I will starve to death."  She insisted.

Vegeta snorted before answering.  "You won't starve woman.  Three days is nothing.  At least we have water to drink."

Bulma notched her hands on her hips and glared at the man in the doorway.  "Oh yah?  Well what about you?  You're a Saiyan.  Don't you have to eat two tons of food every ten minutes?"

At her words Vegeta's eyes darkened and Bulma felt a moment of unease.  Though he would never admit it, while he had been under Bulma's care he had eaten better than he had most of his life.  She had been sure that he received three square meals a day and even indulged him in desserts.  Something he never received while serving under Frieza.  He hadn't lied when he said three days without eating was nothing.  He had gone much longer without even water to keep him going.  He had to admit, he felt a small amount of trepidation when he thought about the woman not eating for three straight days.  She was so much smaller than he.  She couldn't afford to miss many meals.  The stress she had been under before they left would no doubt contribute to her frailness.  He was sure that she hadn't been eating well in the days preceding their departure.

He raked his hot eyes down her body, taking in the soft swell of her breasts as she panted with indignation and her delicate toes as they tapped a tattoo of annoyance of the floor.  Bulma's cheeks flushed at his heated gaze and she was distinctly aware of the fact that a barrier no longer separated them.

His black eyes met hers and his lips spread into a sensuous smile that made her think of chocolate covered skin and velvety tongues.  She fought the urge to smack herself in her head as her stomach simultaneously growled at the delicious thought and clenched with desire at the same time. 

"Well I suppose I could always eat you."  Vegeta's husky voice slid over her, caressing her in the most intimate places.  Her heart rate increased and she couldn't discern whether he meant he would cook her over an open fire or something much more…decadent.

Vegeta gave her one last veiled look before pushing himself up off the door jam and sauntering down the hall.  "Hurry up and come set the course for the planet."  He shouted, jogging Bulma out of her daze.  She checked herself in the mirror one last time before darting out the doorway after him.

Bulma lay sideways on the bed, her head hanging upside down over the edge.  She absently threw a rubber ball that she had found against the far wall, catching it on the rebound before it nailed her right between the eyes.  The first day of their journey she had wondered around the ship, finally ending up on the observation deck.  She had sat for hours, gazing out the velvet darkness of space that was decorated with diamond studded stars. 

She had been completely enthralled and she would have stayed their indefinitely if Vegeta hadn't broken her reverie.  He had entered the room, lounging lazily against the door as was his way when he wanted to intimidate her.  He said nothing and she had soon fled the room, the weight of his black eyes following her.  She had been unavoidably reminded of their unbreakable, fateful engagement that lingered in the future.  Though he had spared her for the moment, he would eventually take her life and everything she loved with it, if she didn't find some way soon of dissuading him. 

"Mama's chocolate soufflé."  She muttered to herself.

So now she was in the room she had picked after she had set the coordinates for the planet Vegeta had pointed out.  The ship was built to house a crew of at least twenty people so she had plenty of choices.  It had a small port window and she had entertained herself watching the stars blaze by, but she soon become bored with the unchanging scenery.  Space travel was not as exciting as she thought it would be.  Especially when she had a whole lot of nothing to do and the only other living person on the ship with her was a cold blooded killer.  Yah, it was a regular carnival of horrors.

"Pomegranates.  Ripe right off the tree." 

Of course she had chosen the room furthest from Vegeta.  She avoided him like the plague.  She didn't trust him and most importantly she didn't trust herself around him.  He was a dangerous man.  Not just to races weaker than him, but to her morals in general.  You just couldn't trust yourself when you body said 'jump him' at the same time your mind said 'run away'.  Men like Vegeta should be locked away.  Bulma snickered softly to herself as she deftly caught the ball again. 

She had always been attracted to the wrong type of men, much to her own determent.  She could never bring herself to go out with the nice, young, college boys that her father brought home from the office for her to meet.  They were to tame and sickeningly sweet.  They had never been subjected to a day of hard work in their life and they didn't even know what the word naughty meant.  That was why she stayed with Yamcha these ten long years.  He was her bad boy from the desert.  To bad he was so easily domesticated.  Maybe that was why she hung out with a bunch of fighters all the time.  At least they always had something exciting going on in their lives that didn't involve a society luncheon or an all important board meeting.  She thrived on the thrill of adventure.  She was a free spirit.  A wanderer.  Or she could just be ill in the head.

"Oven baked bread."  She paused a minute, catching the ball in midair.  "With fresh churned butter."

She had no idea what Vegeta did to pass the time.  She would wager her fifty-two piece ratchet set that he wasn't rehashing old love affairs or examining his personality flaws.  Did he have love affairs?  Her female instincts told her that he definitely wasn't a virgin.  The man was probably born with the innate knowledge of how to make a woman scream.  That didn't mean he had meaningful relationships in the past.  He by no means seemed like the kind of guy that equated sex with love.  She doubted that he had ever loved anyone in his life.   Family, friends or a lover.  Just because she heard his heartbeat didn't mean that he actually had a heart.

But still, his heart beat.  Which meant he was a living being.  And she had almost taken that life.  She would have snuffed it out as callously as she would squash a bug.  She had no choice she told herself bitterly.  She had to compromise her morals for the greater good.  It wasn't as though she would have taken perverse pleasure from killing him or that her actions were motivated by revenge.  She had merely been cornered and when faced with preserving her unblemished soul or saving the lives of millions she had taken the most sensible route.  She should be crowned a saint not denounced as a sinner.

_It still would have been murder.  Wrap it up pretty and stick a bow on it, but when it comes down to it you would have been a cold-blooded killer.  Just like him._ 

The cruel bitter voice in the back of her head whispered.  What was worse was the mocking laughter that lingered in her heart, because deep down inside, she knew that she had failed at her self imposed task purposefully.  If the General had not come along she would have found some other way to avoid murdering Vegeta.  She would have let him get free and had she not awoken in time then her world would be in ruins right now.

The mocking laughter that lingered was not ridiculing her for her determination to kill Vegeta.  It mocked her because she would have ended up being much worse than a murderer of a single man.  She would have been the destroyer of an entire civilization.  Her inaction would have slew millions and there lay the heart of her guilt.  Not her false resolution to kill Vegeta, but the heavy realization that she would not have.  Even as she had plunged the syringe towards Vegeta's thigh she knew deep down that he would stop her.  She was merely human and his reflexes were incomparable to hers.

Silent accusing tears fell from her eyes, sliding into the mass of hair at her temples.  She grimly shook her shame away, focusing her mind on the present and banished the past to the prison of her mind where it would remain to torture her indefinitely.  Guilt was an inescapable punishment.  She sighed deeply, trying to focus on the ball that she was bouncing. 

Three days without food was affecting her mind.  It didn't really sound that bad when she first thought about it.  Three days.  That's nothing but seventy-two hours.  Twenty four of which she would be asleep.  She even had the extra bonus of being unconscious the first day.  Of course she woke up utterly ravenous, but that was easily ignored.  She drank some water and went on her way.  But by the middle of the second day, she had doubled over with hunger pangs.  Her stomach rebelled so violently that she was horribly nauseas and could barely move off the bathroom floor.  She gulped cupfuls of water and it assuaged her pain slightly, but was still there, gnawing on her innards like a rat in a linen closet.

"Honey baked ham with cloves and mashed potatoes on the side."

Today wasn't so bad.  Her mind was wondering a bit and she found it hard to concentrate.  She didn't even bother getting out of bed.  She was lethargic, but her overactive brain wouldn't let her sleep or her bladder for that matter.  There was only so much water that she could drink.  At this point she might as well stand over the toilet with a glass and pour it in because that was about as much good as it did her.

She sighed and went back to wondering what Vegeta was doing.  He probably found the gym in the lower decks but it was only half furnished.  She was sure that he was dissatisfied with it, but there was little she could do about it.  She didn't have a gravity chamber, like the one she equipped on Goku's ship, stuffed up her sleeve.  He was just going to have to entertain himself like she was doing.  It wasn't as though she was going to seek him out and strike up a conversation.  She might end up getting some unruly thoughts about his thighs, which would have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her stomach.

"Steak.  Big, thick, juicy steak as big around as Yajirobi."  Bulma smacked her lips longingly.

And if she could harbor those thoughts, who knew what was running through Vegeta's head.

"Landfall in twenty minutes."  Bulma whipped her head towards the panel as the computer's monotone voice filled the room.  Her inattention allowed the ball she had been tossing to smack her right on her bruised temple.

"Ow!"  She whimpered while putting her hand over her nearly healed wound.  She slithered off the bed face first, struggling hard to stand.  Black dots danced in front of her eyes and she swayed in the middle of her room.  She quickly regained her balance and darted off to the control room, one hand jerking up her skirt that hung dangerously low on her thinning hips.

She raced onto the bridge, sliding to a stop when she saw Vegeta standing in the middle of the room, watching as an ugly brown planet on the view screen increased in size as they neared it.  She approached Vegeta cautiously, skimming around him to examine the planet.  She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight.  The first alien world she was going to set foot on and it wasn't even very pretty.

"What an ugly planet."  She muttered, more than a fair dose of disappointment in her voice.

Vegeta refused to look at her, not even raising an eyebrow when she had entered.  She had been avoiding him for the last two days and it was just as well.  He was still pissed at her for manipulating him once again and getting him into another situation that he couldn't control.  Not to mention trying to kill him.  He was still a little shocked about that, although he wasn't certain why.  He knew that when she had muttered her pitiful promises that they were lies, but somehow he found himself believing them.  For a brief moment he wanted desperately to believe that there was one person in this shitty existence that was honest and true, something so completely unexpected.  So completely impossible. 

His cynicism was only proven correct when the little saint held a gun to his head, but he felt no satisfaction at the outcome, only overwhelming bitterness that threatened to swallow his already soiled soul.  He wanted nothing more than to punish her, to make her pay for driving home the dark truth that he had always known.  That brutality and hatred existed in everything and the love and purity were only guises for evil to hide under.  He slit his eyes and glared straight ahead, knowing that he couldn't lay a hand on her or she would leave him stranded in the middle of nowhere with his thumb up his ass.

Since she had locked herself away in her room he couldn't even subtly terrorize her.  Oh he could full blown chase her around the ship like a scared rabbit, but that wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as tormenting her slowly.  He expected her to be sluggish these last few days, but he knew once he got some food in her that she wouldn't be able to sit still.  Her natural intolerance for solitude would force her out of her room and right into his waiting arms.  A weak willed creature such as her would not be able to withstand the unremitting silence that would echo through the ship during their long journey.  He was well used to traveling alone, without any companionship, but the woman would break under the strain and then he would be one step closer to his prize.

Her words just underscored how ignorant of the universe she was.  She had no idea what she was looking at or how things worked now that she was off her cotton candy planet.  If she expected things to be dreamy like they were back on Earth she was in for a big surprise.  She most certainly couldn't play Queen of the World out here.  She was in Frieza's domain now and it was no better than the seventh circle of hell.

"It's a commerce planet.  It deals only in trade.  It has no need for vegetation."  Vegeta short clipped reply made Bulma shutter and she decided to drop the subject.

She typed in the landing codes and braced herself against the console.  She smiled smugly when the ship entered the atmosphere with barely a bump.  She was such a genius.  After seeing the rough take off Goku and the others had to endure she had made sure this ship the superior hydraulics it needed for a smooth ride.

They landed outside a heavily populated area on a strip of dirt that was nothing more than a parking lot for space ships.  Bulma started cussing a blue streak, when a small cruiser darted by, nearly colliding with her ship's wider girth.  For the first time, Vegeta turned his head to stare at the small woman.  Maybe she wouldn't have such a hard time out here after all, he thought to himself.

"Shouldn't they have some sort of air traffic controller or something?"  She bitched angrily.

Vegeta shook his head no as he replied.  "Not here."  He turned to walk away leaving Bulma to glare at the viewer.

"What the hell does that mean?  Not here."  She turned around to find him gone and she quickly scrambled after him.

"Wait!  Wait for me!"  She caught up with him at the hatch and she leaned against the wall, out of breath and dizzy.  Three days without food had taken its toll on the woman and beneath her flushed cheeks Vegeta could see the unnatural pallor of her face.

"Stay here."  He ordered while pressing the button to open the door.

"No way."  She spouted.  This was her first alien planet and she wanted to see it first hand.  She wasn't going to wait on the ship like some good little house wife.

Vegeta turned to glare at her.  "Woman, this isn't a holiday. Stay in here."

"I want to come, Vegeta.  It's the first time that I have ever seen an alien world.  I want to see everything."  Her eyes sparkled with eagerness and innocent wonder and Vegeta felt his gut clench.

"It's dangerous out there woman."  He growled fiercely, trying his best to look intimidating, but she just clasped her hands in front of her chest and batted her eyes up at him.

"Please Vegeta.  No one out there could be more dangerous than you.  I will be perfectly safe."  Vegeta blinked at her backward logic.  In all of his of his life he had never seen a woman bat her eyes at him.  He almost didn't know what to think.  Shrink in horror, yes.  Scream with terror, of course, but never beg him prettily for a favor.  She must have seen the indecision in his eyes because she smiled brilliantly up at him and darted under his arm and down the ramp.

Vegeta rubbed his hand over his face and followed her, knowing that only bad things could happen with her around.  He caught up with her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around so he could face her.

"Listen up human.  If you are going to do this with me there are some things you should know.  First of all, whenever you speak to someone, keep your arms crossed in front of you.  Everyone here is either a warrior or carrying a weapon of some kind.  By crossing your arms it shows that you have no intention of attacking them." 

Bulma listened intently, but glimpses of strange aliens here and there made her concentration wander.  Most of the aliens seemed to be almost human looking, but with severe deformities like a third eye or a missing arm.  They looked like bad actors in a futuristic film about mutants who lived too close to a nuclear power plant.  However, a few were distinctly not human looking and they captured her attention nearly entirely.  She saw one vermillion skinned, reptilian woman that reminded her of a vivid sunset in a smog laden sky.

"Oh is that why you always stand with your arms crossed?  I thought it was just because you are an arrogant ass."  She quipped up at him.

"I am arrogant.  I'm a prince you moron, so show me some respect."  He sneered at her and she frowned.  "Secondly, when someone makes eye contact with you don't look away first.  It makes you seem weak and if you look weak then they will think I am to by association.  The last thing I need is for someone challenging me right now.  Let's just get some food and get out of here."  As he spoke his eyes roamed restlessly from one person to the next, searching for any threat.  His constant surveillance made Bulma nervous and she began to question the wisdom of following him, alien planet or not.  She had never seen Vegeta this cautious.  He had said precious little about the planet so far and none of it had been positive.

He released her arm and strode up ahead, leaving her alone in the middle of the hard packed, clay path that was baked by the desert sun and coated with a thin layer of dust.  With every step dust puffed up, coating the inside of her nose and mouth, caking on her skin.  Already she felt sweat bead up on her brow from the intense heat and trail down her face, leaving trails in the dirt.  She did a double take and scampered after Vegeta, her bravado evaporating at the thought of being left alone.  First she trailed behind him, taking in everything with big eyes, but with every step she grew even with him until she was as close to his side as she could get without touching him.

The planet was painted in hues of mud browns and grays.  The shine of tinny metal glinted in the sun, blinding her unprotected eyes.  Refuse was piled on the sides of the streets, outside of shacks that were held together by spit and hope.  Over some of the hovels the inhabitants had draped awnings, made of tattered, filthy cloth to protect them from the burning heat of the midday sun.

A little girl stood atop a heap of garbage her dirty thumb clamped in her small mouth.  Bulma couldn't discern the color of her hair or her skin she was covered in so much filth.  Bulma doubted that she had even bathed once in her life.  She wore a rag that look disturbingly similar to the fabric that was being used as a nearby awning.  The child watched them pass with empty eyes, only hunger burning in their desolate depths.

A woman to Bulma's left called out in a sing song voice, immediately snagging her attention.  She leered suggestively at Vegeta, her hand sliding up her muddy thigh and dipping under the indecently short scrap she wore, that could be loosely described as a dress.  She spewed words that Bulma didn't understand, but she recognized their universal meaning.  She lewdly propositioned Vegeta, but he ignored her as he strode ahead.  He glanced neither left or right and although he moved forward as though nothing but his goal existed, there was no doubt that he was fully aware of all that transpired around him.

The crowd thickened as they moved towards the center of the settlement and Vegeta was forced to slow their brutal pace.  Bulma squeezed in tighter next to him as her eyes roamed over the array of weapons that were strapped to various parts of people's anatomy.  Everything from deadly guns to wicked swords graced most everyone's attire. 

Vegeta paused in the middle of the thoroughfare, waiting with uncommon patience for a group of pedestrians to pass in front of him.  Apparently, Vegeta was aware of some sort of courtesy that was required when interacting with other cultures.  He must only choose to use it when it benefited him to do so. 

As they waited a shuffling noise drew her attention had she cast her eyes to the side.  They had entered a narrow boulevard that consisted of only foot traffic.  On either side were various run down establishments and Bulma didn't have to be a genius to figure out their purpose.  From some drifted the odor of barely edible food and from others the stench of too much wine being spilled onto the rotting floorboards.  She looked into a small fenced patio that was shielded from the sun by a sheet of tin braced on spindly wooden poles at each corner.  She squinted her eyes and with a snort of disdain she noticed that several people lay sprawled on the ground.  Their gaping mouths and vacant expressions would have caused her concern if she didn't see the shallow rise and fall of their concave chests.

From the depths of the darkened entrance to the building, a man stumbled out, showing no concern for the bodies he thoughtlessly stepped on.  The motionless patrons didn't rouse themselves beyond a half-hearted grunt of protest as he stepped on their fingers or legs.  The unkempt man made his way unsteadily to a small table that wobbled dangerously as he heaved his frail body into the chair.  The man's eyes roved from one place to the next, never stopping for more than a second on any one object and his hands continuously scratched at any skin exposed by the rag he was wearing.  He looked like a nervous Chihuahua, shivering and shaking, unable to sit still.  Bulma could see weeping sores on his flesh and the constant raking by his dirty nails only inflamed the wounds more.

Unexpectedly, the man's bloodshot eyes connected with hers and she sucked in a breath at the sight.  His red rimmed eyes were filled with and untold amount of despair and an almost frantic yearning for something that couldn't be named.  Torment and frustration wracked his body and she could see that weariness penetrated him to the core.  It was as though he had nothing left to give to life and was only waiting to die.

She watched as he unwrapped a small vial from a tattered cloth.  He held the vial up to the light and the vibrant liquid inside glittered with crystal blue purity.  It glowed brightly, shocking Bulma with the first bit of true color she had seen since coming to this dull, muted planet.  He twisted off the top, pulling out a dropper like it was a perfume bottle.  He leaned his head back and splashed two drops of the fluid into each of his eyes.  His body trembled as a rattling sigh of ecstasy escaped the man's cracked lips.  His head fell forward and his now wholly glowing crystal blue eyes gazed sightlessly at her.  The furrowed lines on the man's face faded away and a look of vacuous peace claimed him.  His entire body slumped down in his chair as he drifted away on a cloud of synthetic pleasure. 

Bulma shuddered at the sight and the crowd surged around them almost separating her from Vegeta's protective shadow.  Without thought she reached up and looped her slender fingers around his bicep, clamping onto him for safety.  At her touch Vegeta looked down at the frightened woman, but she was too busy staring at the poverty that surrounded her to notice.  He almost shook her off him, but he caught sight of a male casting her sly looks and instead he pulled her closer to him.  She placed her other hand on his arm, clinging to him like a paramour would her lover.

"I thought this was a commerce planet?"  Bulma questioned while eying another starved child with distaste.

"That doesn't mean they are rich."  Vegeta looked around him, for the first time seeing this world they way the woman would.  He had grown up traveling from world to world, very much like these.  This was a low class trade planet, dealing with the more seedy needs of the universe, like prostitution and drugs.  Most everyone who came to trade on this world was a criminal of some type, who needed discretion in their dealings, which is why he chose to land here in the first place.

Higher class commerce planets logged their transactions with the Intergalactic Merchant Database or IMD for short.  It recorded all trade transacted with legal tender, automatically deducting Frieza's cut and transferred it to his royal coffers.  If Frieza wanted to track him the first thing he would have traced would be the IMD.  This still didn't remove all threat of discovery however.  More than likely Frieza would have put word out that he was looking for his favorite monkey subject and there was a chance that someone would recognize him here, which his why he needed to be as inconspicuous as possible.  He glance down at the beautiful woman who graced his arm.  That was something that she was just not capable of.

Once they arrived at the market place, Vegeta quickly scanned the area, looking for the tell tale banner of a food merchant.  At the end of a stall lined path was the distinctive wave of a dirty green pennant and he impatiently pushed himself through the crowd.  Bulma gagged as Vegeta dragged her along behind him.  The crush of people was overwhelming at their unwashed bodies pressing together caused a god-awful stench that assail her nose mercilessly.  She used one of her hands to cover her nose and mouth, her eyes watering from the combination of body odor and the gritty dust that coated everything.

Vegeta stalked up to the stall, brushing a large man aside so he could address the vender.  The larger man rounded on Vegeta angrily but one snarl and a gutturally spoken word from the prince sent the man running.  So much for courtesy thought Bulma mirthlessly.  Vegeta began to speak with the man behind the wooden counter and Bulma quickly realized that she would not be able to follow their conversation.  She glanced at Vegeta really understanding for the first time that he was an alien, with alien skills and knowledge that she had no true conception of.  How many languages did he speak, she wondered.  How many races had he met in his short life, not just the ones he annihilated, but he ones he actually interacted with?  What knowledge did he possess that made her hard won technology look childish and outdated?

Bulma scanned her surroundings, leaving behind the heart of a woman that constricted at the sight of so much depravity and degradation, instead viewing everything with the eye of a scientist.  The man that Vegeta dealt with was human looking, but with short, course, dark stubble that stood out stiffly from his cheeks and his eyes were unnaturally rounded.  They bulged from his face like shiny orbs of obsidian and she could discern neither a pupil nor the whites of his eyes.  He wore an old, dirty hat that was pushed down low over his brow, shading huge eyes from the sun.  Movement from under his shirt caused the fabric to ripple subtly and Bulma's skin started to crawl.  He moved with an awkward gainliness that reminded her of a spider outside of its web.

Unlike other nearby stalls there was nothing gracing his rough hewn wooden counter and the only thing behind him was a fall of dark green material that she surmised separated his work area from his sleeping quarters.  Seeing nothing of interest in his stall Bulma cast her eyes towards the neighboring lean-to.  She saw a smattering of mechanical components scattered on the counter and she curiously moved to examine the alien technology.

She had gotten a few steps and raised her arm to touch the merchandise when she realized that something hindered her movement.  She looked down to see the tip of Vegeta's tail tightly banded around her wrist like a furry bracelet.  She frowned at it a moment before glaring up at Vegeta.  He paid her no mind and seemed to be in intense negotiations with the merchant.  She felt like a two year old whose mother had tied a rope around her arm so she wouldn't get lost in the crowd.  She was tempted to yank hard on his appendage to teach him that Bulma Briefs would not be leashed like some sort of bitch in heat, but one look at a nearby delinquent who licked his lips insinuatingly quickly changed her mind.  Better to be leashed by the master she knew than to be bound and gagged by the unknown monster that kidnapped her.

She continued her examination of the goods in front of her, completely unaware of the conversation that took place a few feet to her left.

"Unacceptable."  Vegeta growled angrily at the bug man in front of him.

The man shrugged, his nose twitching sadistically.  "I tain't see'in any ot'er way, Mi'tter.  Take oit or leat it, but thatten be my ofter."  The merchant's nasal tones rang out, prodding Vegeta's ire even more.

"My credit is good.  You will take it."  Vegeta thrust his credchip towards the man once again.  When he landed on Earth the only thing he had tucked into his armor was a thin crystalline disk that held an accounting of all his finances.  Like most of the more intelligent soldiers of Frieza he had a separate account under an alias so he could transact business without alerting his master of his movements.  Most upper class worlds had scanners that swept the card and deducted the proper amount of credits for a purchase and transferred it into the merchant's account.  Although Frieza should have no knowledge of this account, Vegeta still dreaded using such an obvious way to be traced, but he had no cash on him and nothing of value to trade.  In a word, he was broke.

"No, no.  I don't be taken any creds.  Cash oly."  The man waved his hands in front of him, warding off Vegeta's chip.

"You will take it or I will pull this shit hole shanty down around your ears."  Vegeta growled in earnest, leaning over the counter threateningly.  The man stepped back, but shook his head remorsefully.

"You'd don't wan'ta  be doin' dat, Mi'tter.  Wes frowns on any ruckus do'n heres thatten coot gets us look't at to c'osely by da empire."  With a nod of his head, the merchant drew Vegeta's attention to two guards that stood just outside of the crowd.  Their hard eyes watched Vegeta closely for any misbehavior.  Vegeta quickly averted his head, hiding his face from their prying eyes and looking back towards the trader.  The man's thin lips stretched into a shallow grin reveling a row of needle sharp teeth.  "Wes don't wan's no tr'uble.  We's are re'pectable folk that's jus' tryin' to makes us a livin'.

Vegeta snorted at the man's mocking words.  His hands were tied.  He couldn't blow the man's shop apart like he so dearly wished to nor did he have the money to buy the food they so desperately needed.  He figured he could go for another week before hunger tightened its remorseless fist on him, staggering him with the demands of his howling belly, but the woman could not go much longer without something to eat.  Already she was pale and listless.  She stood in front of a table overflowing with a bunch of mechanical gizmos that should have put her in a tizzy of excitement, but she just poked at them half heartedly.  Her cheekbones stood out in stark relief against her face, the midday sun casting shadows in the hollows of her eyes.  She was disturbingly reminiscent of the many bodies he had seen littering a bloody battlefield.  A walking corpse.  She needed to eat and soon.

"The price you ask is too high."  Vegeta growled at the man before him.

"A halfs of a hour is olys a b'ink of uhs eye.  I bees done a'for yous knows it."  The man eyed Bulma hungrily, rubbing hands together with barely suppressed lust.  Vegeta grimaced at the hideous man in front of him.  They needed food, but what the man asked for was unacceptable.  The merchant was willing to outfit their ship with several months worth of food and all he requested in return was a half hour alone with Bulma to do with as he pleased.  Such trades were not uncommon on this world and he should have anticipated something similar to this happening once he had left the ship with her in tow.  She was far too beautiful of a woman to be on this planet and not get noticed a dozen times over.

Normally he found other male's urges to be a disgusting tool that he would have no problem utilizing to achieve his goal.  After all, the woman's body was merely a resource like anything else and without food she would undoubtedly starve.  If he hadn't already staked a claim on her he would have handed her over to the merchant and taken the food, but as it was he felt unnaturally possessive of her.  He wanted no man's hands on her, to either punish her as the General had or to violate her as this worm wanted to do.

With a growl of frustration he turned on his heel, grabbing Bulma by the arm and dragging her down the dirt path.  Bulma glared up at Vegeta's hard features before twisting her neck to look over her shoulder at the merchant.  As the green banner, signifying food began to disappear from sight, Bulma made a snap decision completely ruled by her rumbling stomach.

"Stop Vegeta!"  She yelled while digging her heels into the ground.  He tried to drag her a few more feet, but she remained uncooperative and the last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention to her.  He dropped her arm and whirled around, hollering into her upturned face.

"What?"  He snarled and she drew back, startled at his ferocious outburst.  Tears welled up in her big, blue eyes and Vegeta had to bite back an rude expletive.

"I'm hungry."  She mumbled and he rolled his eyes. 

"So what."  He snatched her wrist again to lead her away, but she stubbornly yanked her arm back.

"Why didn't we get any food from that man?"  She questioned, folding her arms in front of her as a mulish expression settled on her face.

"The price was too high."  He sneered and reached for her arm again.  She dodged around him, bumping into a shrewish woman who screeched at Bulma in an alien language. 

Bulma shrugged her off, glaring up at Vegeta.  "Do we have what he wants?" 

Vegeta looked away from her, longingly casting a glance over his shoulder towards the ship.  When he didn't answer right away, Bulma repeated her question.  "Well jackass, do we have what he wants?"

At her snide clip, Vegeta's head whipped around and he thrust his angry countenance into hers.  "Yes."  He hissed vehemently.  Bulma's face clouded with anger and she notched her hands on her hips haughtily.

"Well give it to him."  She demanded.  Vegeta's eyes slit and he tried very hard to remember why he had walked away from the food merchant in the first place.

"I said the price was too high, woman."  He snarled.

"I don't fucking care Vegeta.  I'm so hungry right now I could eat my boot.  Give the jerk whatever he wants and stop being such a greedy asshole.  What the hell are you doing?  Bargain shopping?  I swear Vegeta, all you ever do is think about yourself.  Whatever it is that he wants, it can't be that important.  Just give it up to him.  I have to eat sometime today, cause if I don't my stomach is going to start having mutinous thoughts towards my spleen, if you get my meaning.  So stop being such a selfish bastard and get me some food."  She finished her tirade by stomping her foot on the ground like a spoiled child, her lower lip extended into a full pout.

Vegeta grabbed her arm pulling her to him so he could lean down close to her.  "Oh I'll give him what he wants alright, woman.  And you are going to be sorry that I did."  With that, he did an about face and swept Bulma through the crowd back to the vender.  He stopped at the counter, reaching down to lift the end up and thrust Bulma into the arms of the man.

"Here, take the bitch.  She deserves a good fucking."  He growled remorselessly and slammed the counter back down, locking it into place.


	10. A Whore's Life

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ.

A/N:  There is some foul language in this chapter.  squeezes fingers together a pinch  But lets be honest.  You would be raging pissed too.

Chapter Ten

A Whore's Life

The food trader caught Bulma effortlessly, two more arms snaking out from under his shirt to snare her.  She looked down to her midriff and her stunned gaze absorbed the horrifying truth about the man's extra appendages.  Instead of human arms like his other two, these tapered off to singular, sharp, black talons.  The limbs were covered with the same short, black stubble as his cheeks, only longer and courser.  His arms were thin, double jointed and spindly, looking exactly like large spider legs.

Bulma screamed hysterically, but they fell on deaf ears.  A woman's cries were common among the crowd and no one even lifted their head from their work.  The man chortled excitedly, murmuring high pitched words into her ear that she could not understand.  He backed up carefully into his liar, pushing the green curtain aside impatiently.

Bulma's shocked blue eyes darted up to meet Vegeta's emotionless gaze.  He watched as the man dragged her back behind the curtain, her cries rolling over him like glacial water.  She held out her hand in one last gesture of pleading, his name falling from her lips like an evocation of protection.  Purposefully, he turned his back on her, leaning nonchalantly against the counter to wait patiently for the vender's time to be up.

This should teach the woman to show him the respect he deserved as her superior.  Not only was he above her in station, but his knowledge of the universe was much greater than hers.  In the future, she would think twice about questioning his authority or demand that he obey her like a common servant.  Besides, she deserved her punishment.  The cloak of pretentious morality that she settled so comfortably on her unfit shoulders was about to be snatched ruthlessly away from her.  It was easy to chide him about his lack of compassion and moral ambiguity when she sat on her untainted pedestal, but now it was time for her to roll around in the muck like the rest of them.  Finally, she would get a taste of what it was like to survive in a universe, where only the cruelest prospered and the weak endured in pain and heartache.

He watched the ebb and flow of the foot traffic around him.  Men and women approached merchants and traded for various goods and supplies.  He had seen the same thing a thousand times before on hundreds of different planets.  An obscene flash of bright color caught his eye and he turned his head to examine a ragged woman with gaudily dyed, fuchsia hair.  Her clothing had once been a startling canary yellow, but time and neglect had aged it to a soft beige color spotted with dark, brown splotches.  The bodice was cut indecently low and the hem stopped just below the parting of her thighs.  Everything about her screamed street whore, including her face, that was creased with worn lines that told the story of her downtrodden existence.  She had no bright spark of life.  Her very essence was dull and listless.  Her soul had been beaten from her numerous times, leaving her dead inside, unable to feel even the most basic of emotions.  Her only remaining concerns were her next meal and surviving her latest trick.

Vegeta gazed on uninterestedly as she dug a few coins from her cleavage in exchange for a packet of medicine.  As she reached out to deposit the money in the merchant's palm, her thin dress exposed enough of her arm for him to see the putrefied ravages of a flesh eating virus.  The wound was enflamed, weeping with green puss and rotting gore.  She was in dire need of medical attention immediately or she would most certainly die.

With a trembling hand she took the medicine, but it was just as quickly snatched from her grasp by a seedy man who stalked up next to her.  He tossed the packet to the merchant, demanding the woman's money back.  As the trader handed over the coins, the man's meaty fist closed over them possessively.  He yelled angrily at the beleaguered woman, shaking her fiercely by her synthetic colored hair.  People pulled away, creating an unbroken space that could not be trespassed upon.  No one stopped what they were doing, merely adjusted their course so they would not be pulled into the fray, ignoring the scene as the man's yells became more enraged and the woman wept bitterly. 

He rained blows down on the woman, belittling her for wasting his hard earned money on something as worthless as medicine when it could be used for him instead.  She argued spiritlessly that it was her money and she was the one who had lain on her back to earn it so she should be allowed to spend it as she pleased.  The man backhanded her viciously, cruelly reminding her that she would be dead within the year anyways, so there was no point in buying something that would only prolong the inevitable.  Of course, the man wasn't nearly so eloquent in his words, but Vegeta understood his gist.

The woman sobbed beneath the blows, beginning for forgiveness and promising to do anything he asked as long as he stopped hurting her.  Her wails were so loud that Vegeta almost didn't hear the loud crash behind him, but Bulma's cries were unmistakable.

"Please Vegeta!  I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.  Don't do this to me."  Bulma's cry was accompanied by the rending of fabric and her shriek of terror.  Vegeta's head twitched to the side, blocking out the screams from behind him as he watched the scene in the street.

Bulma dodged under the spider man's arms as he reached for her.  She darted over to a crudely made table, snatching up a clay goblet and throwing with all her might at her attacker.  She heaved missile after missile at him, but the man batted them away easily.  The creature hissed angrily and spewed a string of words at her that she could only interpret as a rebuke for breaking his possessions.  He lunged forward and she tried to run past him, but one of his extra arms snaked out, slashing her painfully in the side with his talon.  Her fashionably cut jacket that she draped over her white blouse to complete her business suit ensemble was ripped away, falling to the ground in a flutter of shredded, expensive silk.

She couldn't believe that Vegeta would do this to her.  That he would hand her over to another man like he would a bag of rice.  Trade her body for food as though she was a possession and not a woman.  She had never dreamed that he was capable of such cruelty.  Although she knew that he was a murdering monster, a small part of her never believed that he could be so heartless.  But she knew.  She knew that he hadn't really wanted this.

She understood belatedly that he had intended to walk away from the food vender.  He preferred to starve rather than hand her over to the bug man, but her tirade on the street had pushed buttons she hadn't even known existed and now he was teaching her a valuable lesson.  She was nothing without him, his word was law and she should not defy him.  She was sorry.  She was so very sorry, because now there was no saving her.  She was helpless and alone in an unforgiving universe that was going to eat her alive.  No army.  No Yamcha.  No Vegeta.  He turned his back on her, leaving her alone to endure the consequences of her vicious tongue.

Vegeta witnessed the beating that the woman on the street took, the only person besides her keeper who openly acknowledged her existence.  Even the merchant continued his business unhindered, merely moving down to the end of his counter to trade with someone else.  The woman staggered under the blows and Vegeta was silently impressed at the amount of abuse she could take and still remain standing.  Like him, she had suffered long years of pain and torment, hardening her body and soul against the agony of living.  How many times had he seen someone broken?  Did he even know anyone whose spirit wasn't irreparably damaged?  The point of Vegeta's chin lowered towards his chest and he darted a glance behind him from the corner of his eye.  The blue-haired witch was still vivacious and eager to taste life, at least for now.

The whore cried out brokenly, finally collapsing under a vicious punch to the face.  The man yelled at her to get up, but she just curled herself into a tight ball, mewling pathetically in the dirt.  He reached down, grabbing a fistful of her threadbare dress, trying to yank her up off the ground but rending the thin fabric instead and exposing her filthy body to uncaring eyes.

"Vegeta.  Help me Vegeta.  Please make him stop."  There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh and her words were cut off with a strangled gasp.  Vegeta's arms tightened over his muscled chest and his impassive mask became harder, more shuttered.  His black eyes burned hellishly as he determinedly ignored Bulma's cries for help.

He repeated the mantra in his head that she deserved what she got.  She wanted to leave the ship, to see her first alien world.  She wanted food so badly.  Well then, let her work for it.  The hard line of his lips thinned as he pushed down the possessive animal inside of him that snarled at the thought of another male touching what he marked as his.  This was just another way to prove that he was always in control.  He would not allow his baser instincts to rule his mind.  She was being touched by another because he allowed it.  He still owned her, whether she acknowledged it yet or not.  This was just an extension of that ownership.

Bulma gasped as her lip split open from her attacker's fist and she tasted the metallic taint of blood in her mouth.  In the fray, she had knocked away the vender's hat reveling another two rows of disgusting, bulging eyes that focused solely on her.  She could see her multiplied reflection in their shiny depths, a blue-haired woman whose face was carved into a living, breathing embodiment of terror and horror.  Her mouth was wrenched open in an endless scream that she could not quell if she wanted to. 

Her regret turned to anger and a small voice that she kept locked away in the darkest part of her heart awoke.  The same voice that told her the truth about her guilt.  The voice that knew she would have let Vegeta live.  Its viperous words of rage and betrayal whispered in her mind, overwhelming the normally logical voice that sounded in her head.  How could Vegeta let this _thing_ touch her?  She may deserve some sort of punishment for her harsh words she admitted bitterly and most certainly Vegeta would feel that he was due retribution for his entrapment these last months, but never did she think he would sink this low.  She had never considered that he would allow another creature, another male, to exact the revenge that he so sadistically thirsted for.

If Vegeta felt that she must be punished for her wrongs against him, then it should be him that did so.  A black seed in her heart bloomed and it grew with every passing second.  Her chest ached with the seething betrayal.  She deserved better than to be abused by some half man, half spider creature who knew nothing of their struggle for control.  Only Vegeta should be allowed to touch her.  She would only tolerate his hands on her, his body against hers.  It was his right to punish her and no others.  How dare he allow another man to touch what was _his_.

Naked rage shone in Bulma's eyes and she lunged forward, extending her clawed hands to rake her nails viciously down the man's face, leaving bloody furrows in his flesh.  He screeched with pain and batted her away, quickly diving after her as she reached for a rod iron bar that clattered to the ground.

The man on the street glared angrily down at the naked woman, his hands working furiously at his fly.  He bellowed loudly for all to hear that she was his property, to do with as he wished and her money was in fact his.  She deserved her punishment for disobeying him, for daring to think that she had any worth.  The woman crawled back on her elbows, the fire in her soul that had been smothered so ruthlessly, resurfacing briefly.  The man fell onto her, extinguishing the flame like a breath of air.  His weight crushed her to the ground and the woman lay unmoving beneath the filthy man, her eyes dying with every thrust of his gaunt hips. 

It was brutally easy to crush the will to live from someone.  Vegeta felt the pressure to buckle under, nearly every day, when he stepped out his door.  Life was a dangerous dance of skill and determination while living beneath Frieza's cold claw.  Before he met Bulma, he had never seen anyone with so much life in their eyes, so much joy at simply existing.

Vegeta's face darkened with loathing as he watched the whore's eyes dim.  He disapproved of the male's method of controlling his female.  How many missions had he been on where he had seen the same thing countless times over?  He didn't understand other males absolute need to dominate a woman in that fashion.  He found the entire act to be messy and disgusting.  As a warrior he would never allow himself to be left open to attack on the battlefield just because he needed to rid himself of bloodlust.  Besides the look in the whore's eye was not one he wanted in his female.  She may be a possession, but part of that need to own her came from wanting to tame the flame and hold it in his hand, not squash it in his fist.

People continued to surge around the pair, only a few stopping to watch with lustful eyes.  They grinned and cheered the man on as he stripped his woman of the last remnants of her soul.

The food trader fell upon Bulma in a ravenous flurry of grasping hands and raking claws.  With unholy strength, she thrust her weapon towards his soft underbelly.  She felt the lax give of fat as his stomach contracted, but she didn't have the strength needed to push into his bowels.  He roared with pain and he knocked her makeshift weapon away and Bulma cried out with despair.  The man slapped her viciously again in the face and she spun away, sprawling across the wood table.  He came up behind her, his hands tangling in her long hair.  Burning pain laced through her body, originating from just underneath her shoulder blade.  She could feel the ragged slice of razors on her flesh, pushing the silent scream that was locked in her throat passed her lips. 

He pulled her the floor, her delicate strength no match for his greater weight.  He dragged her skirt up around her hips, prying her thighs apart and bruising her flesh.  His hands roughly fondled her sensitive breasts, sending sharp jolts of agony through her.  She watched in terrified wonder as his thin, bloody lips split apart, reveling a row of needle sharp teeth that could rend her flesh apart in one foul bite.

His teeth parted and from the gapping maw of his mouth a long sinuous tongue appeared.  Bulma gagged at the sight, but she instantly locked her jaw in place, terrified that if he stuck that hideous muscle down her throat that she would surely choke to death.  Through clenched teeth, she called to her savior, the one person who condemned her, but whom she still trusted to save her.  He would not allow this.  He would not.  She chanted silently in her mind.  The darkness inside of her slid sinuously around in her brain, lending its voice to the prayer.  They were bound together by a promise of blood and retribution that could not be broken.

"Vegeta."  Bulma's voice was a whisper that could only be heard by his Saiyan hearing.

Vegeta watched the last of the woman's spirit flicker and die, leaving behind an animated corpse.  The man stood up from her, not even bothering to help her to her feet, laughing uproariously as she struggled to stand, naked and bloody.  They melted away into the crowd, the woman despondently following her master, hiding her face behind the fall of her dirty hair.  A pain-filled scream rent the air, sending a shiver of recognition sliding down Vegeta's spine.  He had heard that sound before, he dreamed of that sound as a boy, before had conquered his quilt and fear of his new life.  There was a heavy crash, then a moment of silence.  His name, softly spoken as a prayer reached his ears.  Her voice was empty, hopeless…broken.

Vegeta turned on his heel, ripping through the counter and passed the cloth doorway.  In the shadowy confines of the hovel he saw Bulma pinned to the ground by the spider creature, his unnaturally long tongue forcing its way between her clenched teeth.  Her silk blouse was torn away and her skirt was rucked up around her hips but he noticed with some sense of relief that her white panties were still intact.

The food trader turned his head towards the invading Saiyan, disgruntlement showing clearly on his twisted features.  "Wes ain't done yets."  The creature scowled, ignoring Bulma who shoved futilely at his torso.

"You are now."  Vegeta growled as he strode up to the trader and tossed him off Bulma with a flick of his wrist.  The creature landed a few feet away, crashing onto the shoddy wooden table and breaking a few more clay goblets in his fall.  Vegeta reached down and pulled Bulma to her feet.  She hastily tugged down her skirt and pulled the remains of her shirt around her to cover her as best as she could.

Vegeta's piercing gaze looked down at Bulma, but like the woman on the street, she hid her face behind the fall of her teal hair and all he could see was the crown of her head.  She stood before him, huddled in her ripped finery, trying desperately not to cry.  Vegeta placed two fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his.

Her shadowed eyes met his obsidian gaze.  His gaze left her breathless.  It was as though he was peering down to the very depths of her soul, trying to discern how much damage he had wrought with his offhanded carelessness of her wellbeing.  Something sparked in his eyes and she held stock still.  He looked at her, really looked and a spasm of recognition crossed over his face.  Before she could stow it away, down in the deep, dark depths of her secret heart he had seen the darkness that swirled inside of her.  He felt the connection between them.  A dark fate they could not escape.  She locked away the traitorous voice that sought her own ruination at Vegeta's hands.  She would not allow herself to be a victim of his charisma.  She was not one of those weak willed females that fainted over the handsome but villainous antagonist.  Nor would she fall victim to a sick and twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome.  Vegeta's lips lifted into a cold smirk when he saw the defiance in her eyes.  His heated gaze raked over her, taking in her newly split lip that matched the already healing bruise at her temple.

At first, Vegeta felt something inside of him stir at the sight of her emotionless gaze.  She appeared damaged beyond repair, like an angel who had broken her wings when she fell from heaven.  Her sorrowful countenance chastised him for his compassionless treatment of her and the bright creature that trusted him to protect her when they left the ship was no more.  But then he saw the hint of darkness in her eyes, a gradual tainting of her soul.  Something was twisting her mind against her, awakening her to new ideas and emotions that she would have never considered had she continued her pampered existence.  He almost felt regretful, but soon the shadow receded as she struggled to subdue it. 

Her eyes shone brightly with betrayal and it was a novel experience to him.  No one had ever trusted him enough for him to betray them.  Even when he had blasted Nappa, it wasn't so much a betrayal as it was unexpected.  Both of his subordinates knew that if they didn't die in battle that they would someday be sacrificed by their prince for his own purposes.  But the woman had trusted him to keep her safe.  Maybe not safe from him, but definitely safe from any other creature that dared to attack her.  She expected him to abuse her, it was practically an unwritten contract between them, but more importantly she expected that he would demand that he be the only one who did so.  This was undoubtedly a setback in their unnatural relationship.

"Did he hurt you?"  The question was mote.  Her lip was throbbing and her eye felt like it was going to explode out of its socket.  What he was really asking was if the spider merchant had violated her.  She looked away, mutely shaking her head no.  Her cold gaze settled on the vender who was struggling to his feet.

"No fairs, wes hads us a deal."  The man mumbled childishly, disappointment shining in his huge black eyes.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes warningly at the creature. The vender shuddered in dread at the combination of icy hate radiating from the blue-eyed woman and the heat of hellfire that burned in the warrior's black eyes.  Vegeta was still glaring at the offending merchant when Bulma rounded on him; her eyes alit once again with the spirit that dwelled deep inside of her.  She drew back her hand and with all her might she slapped Vegeta full across the face.  A sharp crack resounded through the shack and a potent silence descended on the room as they stared into each other's eyes.  Normally, he would have never allowed her to do such a thing.  No amount of distraction would prevent him from knowing that her pathetically slow attack was coming.  However, he felt that the woman needed a certain amount of compensation for the blow her honor had taken and this seemed to be the easiest way to satisfy that.

Bulma glared hard at her captor and supposed protector.  The message was clear on his chiseled features, he was not repentant and therefore she would not forgive him.  With cold aloofness, Bulma gathered her pride around her and stalked from the hovel.  Vegeta felt something akin to relief at the sight of her old fire blazing in her soul once again.  He would have been sadly disappointed if this incident had broken her will.  She was much stronger than she appeared on the outside and he was looking forward to her entertaining spirit for the weeks ahead.

Vegeta gave the merchant one last dirty look before exiting after her.  They walked silently back to the ship, Bulma trailing closely behind, a small sniff escaping her here and there.  Once they were on the dirt road that led out of town and their ship was in sight, Bulma stopped in the middle of the path.  Vegeta felt a pricking sensation on the back of his neck and he abruptly turned around.

Bulma stood a few feet away, glaring harshly at him.  Vegeta sighed deeply and squinted up at the sun, wishing that he was anywhere but there at the moment.  The silence was broken by Bulma accusing voice as it rang out across the short distance that separated them.

"Why did you do that Vegeta?"  She snapped and he was silently happy that she still felt secure enough to yell at him.  A small part of him had been worried when she had gazed back up at him in the hut.  The emptiness in her eyes had been too reminiscent of the whore's on the street.

"You asked for it."  He retorted gruffly.  He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her impassively.  If she was fishing for an apology she would be sadly disappointed.  Vegeta wasn't even sure if he was regretful.  Mostly he was just hungry.

"Oh, so that's it."  Bulma tossed her hands up in frustration.  "You were teaching me a lesson.  Don't cross the big, bad Saiyan prince or you'll regret it."  She mocked while rubbing her leaking eyes with the back of her hand.  As she stood there, her silk shirt knotted in front of her and her baggy wrinkled skirt hanging off her hips, she looked like a small child playing dress up in her big sister's clothes.

"I told you the price was too high, but you didn't listen."  He snarled in response, angered at her twisting of the truth.

"Well dammit, Vegeta I'm hungry.  Our situation hasn't changed any, except now I need a hot shower."  She glowered down at her tattered clothes in disgust.  Every time she thought about that hideous man's hands or legs or whatever they were on her body she wanted to vomit.  "And now, my only set of clothes is ruined."  She added with a pout.

Vegeta followed her gaze down to her front, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe and it had nothing to do with the dusty air.  Her pale midriff was bared to his hungry eyes and he lapped up the sight greedily.  The shirt was knotted between her breasts, barely enough material left to cover even that.  Her skirt rode low on her hips, were she had fiercely tugged it down too far to cover her naked thighs.  She looked like a much cleaner version of a streetwalker that could be found every two meters in this city.

"Well you know your way back to the trader's hut."  Vegeta snapped crossly, his own hunger gnawing in his belly.

Bulma head reared up at his words and her eyes narrowed dangerously.  She stalked across the path, raising her hand to bring it down on his jaw again.  He caught her delicate wrist in his strong grasp, a hard line thinning his full lips.

"You only get to do that once, woman.  Never again."  His deadly voice rasped over her and she shivered under the midday sun.  Their heated eyes locked and they raged a silent battle of domination.  She lowered her gaze under the remorseless onslaught of his eyes, yanking her hand away and turning her back on him in a huff.

"Why didn't you just give him money?"  She pouted while looking out over the rugged terrain.  Even from here the stench of the city wafted through the dusty air, causing her to take shallow breaths.

Vegeta stared hard at the back of her head, resisting the urge to wring her neck for her snotty attitude.  "I tried to give him a credchip, but he only wanted hard cash."

Bulma turned to face him, her brow creasing in concern.  "You don't have any money?"

"I have money, just not any cash."  He waved his credchip in front of her face, his male ego demanding that he prove that he was not penniless.

"You don't have any cash on you?"  She batted his hand away, glaring up at him.

He smirked down at her sardonically and she blinked.  "No, I must have left my wallet in my other pants."  She scowled back in response, her lips curling back over her teeth in frustration.

"Why didn't you just say so, asshole?"  She screeched.

Why?  Do you have money stuffed up your snatch, you self-righteous bitch?"  He bellowed back.

Bulma's face bloomed red and her eyes bulged as her blood pressure sky rocketed.

"You…"  She stammered, small bits of foam forming at the corner of her mouth.  Vegeta's eyebrow raised a fraction as he watched her rage infuse every cell in her body.

"You…"  Bulma's lips peeled back from her tightly grit teeth as she spat the word out, desperately trying to form syllables.  Her mind raced for the perfect insult that would adequately describe how much she loathed him at this moment.  Dick.  Bastard.  Prick.  She was so furious that her brain nearly shut down and she could only repeat the deadly mantra in her head.  Asshole.  Cock.  Sonovabitch!  Vegeta's eyebrow curved a little higher while he watched the woman practically collapse into an epileptic fit.  Her mouth open and from the whirlwind of fury that was racing through her mind she could only pick out the one thing that was absolute.

"You…BAD MAN!!"  She screamed with all the pent up rage she had subdued since he had callously tossed her into the bug man's arms.  Vegeta rolled his eyes, honestly disappointed that she didn't say something more devastating, but at the same time immensely amused at the fact that he had so completely enraged her with his crude comment.

"Gee, I'm hurt."  His droll tone dripped with sarcasm while he dealt her an utterly bored look.

"Oh, I hate you, you scum sucking bastard."  Her hands balled into fists at the end of her stiffened arms.

"Likewise, you prissy, brainless, two-faced slank."  He spat through grit teeth, desperately trying to control the urge to pummel her right there.

They stood their glaring at each other, faces red and jaws clenched.  Dots danced in front of Bulma's eyes and she remembered belatedly to breathe.  She drew back and ripped a delicate ornament from her wrist and threw it violently at Vegeta's face.

He caught it deftly and opened his hand to look down at a diamond encrusted tennis bracelet.  "I assume that diamonds are a commodity everywhere."  She hissed scornfully.  Her heart seized painfully in her chest, while she watched him examine each of the stones, calculating the value in his head.  The bracelet had been a gift from Yamcha, just before he had left to train for the arrival of the Saiyans.  It had been the last real date they had before everything came crashing down around them.  It had been a magical evening, made even more delightful by the thoughtful and expensive present he gave her.

She stood before Vegeta, half dressed, ragged, gritty and nearly collapsing under the weight of despair that swamped her.  Only moments before, a wicked voice was whispering to her that she belonged to Vegeta.  A possession, nothing more.  Like the bracelet belonged to her.  How could she think such stupid thoughts?  How could any of this be happening to her?  She felt like swearing until her face turned blue.  She wanted to reach out and slap something and unfortunately the more she looked at Vegeta's smug face the more she thought she might be able to get away with it again.

All she wanted was to go home.  She was getting too old to be running around looking for adventure.  At least in the past she had Goku with her.  He always kept her safe and protected.  Now she was gallivanting around the universe with the prince of bastards.  She wanted to go home, take a hot shower and curl up in Yamcha's arms.  At least he loved her.  The bracelet Vegeta held was proof of that.  Yamcha loved and adored her.  He would die to protect her.  He would never trade her to a spider man.  He would never hurt her.  Bulma's thoughts sounded like a petulant child's even to her, but she couldn't stop them from swirling around in her mind.

This had gotten out of control.  There was no way she was going to be able to outlive Vegeta.  He was going to kill her eventually and there was nothing she could do to stop it.  He was a cruel and heartless bastard.  Did he even know the difference between good and evil?  Had anyone ever bothered to tell him?

With one last glance at the bracelet, Vegeta swept past her.  She turned to watch him leave.  "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think, idiot?  Get back to the ship and wait for me."  His tone brooked no argument and frankly Bulma was too tired to try.  She had enough of her first alien world experience.  All she wanted was a long hot soak in the relative security of her room.  She watched him stride away for a few more minutes before she turned around and darted back to her ship, where she knew she would be safe.  At least, until Vegeta returned.


	11. One Kiss, A Thousand Deaths

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

Chapter Eleven

One kiss, a thousand deaths

Bulma retreated to her room, choking back the tears. She shed her ragged clothes as she walked through her living quarters on her way to the bathroom. She reached the shower and turned on the water, barely waiting for it to heat up before she stepped inside. As the water cascaded down over her shoulders, the tears that she could no longer hold back poured from her eyes. The salty liquid mingled with the water as it was washed down the drain as though it never existed.

She tried to empty her mind, like she emptied her body of her sorrow with every sob. She tried to wash away all of the pain and anger that she felt inside that had nothing to do with the physical bruising of her body. She tried to erase the memory of that man's hands on her body, his obscene eyes that reflected her horror back at her. She tried but she failed. It was too fresh and much too hurtful. _How could he?_ She didn't think she could hate Vegeta any more than at this moment.

She scrubbed her body until she was pink all over. She took special care to thoroughly clean the slash on her side, wary of getting an infection from the man's filthy claw. She winced as she patted it with a wash rag, determinedly ignoring the slow flow of blood that washed down the drain along with her tears. She felt the burn of razor blades again as water sluiced down her back and she bit her lip to stifle a cry. She twisted her head to the side, but she couldn't see over her shoulder.

She stepped out and dried herself carefully, her entire body aching from her rough handling. She opened the medicine cabinet, taking out the iodine and bandages she had stored in there from tending to the cut on her temple. She awkwardly smeared the brown medicine on her side, frustrated that she couldn't see clearly over her breast. She looked down at the item she had brought with her from the medical bay as she had entered the ship. It was a staple gun for suturing.

She sucked in her lower lip between her teeth and picked up the nasty looking implement, pushing all thoughts about stapling office documents from her mind. She angled her body so she could watch herself in the mirror as she used one hand to pinch the ragged edges of her wound together and wield the gun at the same time. She heard the metallic click of the jaws snapping together before she felt the sharp sting of the staple piercing her already abused flesh. She grunted in the back of her throat and bit down on her lip until she was sure she was going to draw blood. She inhaled deeply through her nose and furrowed her brow. Bravely, she repeated the painful process until her wound was closed properly and she had taped a bandage to her side.

Every time she stretched her muscles to see her wound in the mirror she could feel a throbbing burn in her back, just below her shoulder blade. She rooted around in the drawers until she found a hand held mirror that she could use to see the reflection of her back. She gasped when she saw a ring of seeping punctures marks, marring the white plane of her back. The little fuck shit had bit her! She tried to clean it, but no matter how much she twisted and turned she could not reach the wound. She finally settled on pouring iodine over her shoulder and down her back so it ran into the small holes.

When she was done she peered at her reflection. She had a cut on her temple, a split lip, a jagged wound on her side and a bite mark. She looked like a brawler. She was starting to get fed up with people hitting her. Who did they think they were anyways? Just because someone was weaker than them didn't mean they could go around bashing them. Bastards. In all of her years traveling with Goku she had never been this hurt. In fact she had always been safe.

Bulma felt a wave of homesickness wash over her and she stumbled towards her bed. She crawled under the covers, pulling the blankets up over her head and blocking out any light. She curled up into a tight ball and cried herself to sleep.

Vegeta stood over the sleeping woman, his black eyes flashing in the shadows. She was sprawled out on her back, her arms flung wide, completely oblivious to everything around her while she slept soundly. She had one long leg exposed and her pale skin shined brightly in the darkness. The blanket crept up between her thighs covering the prize that he truly coveted, but fortunately it left her entire leg, hip and most of her side bare. He noticed with no small amount of disappointment that her breasts were covered as well, but what drew his gaze was the bandage that was taped to her side.

His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the strip of white cloth, blooms of red decorating it. She must have been wounded during her struggle with the trader. His cold eyes roved over her face, noting her swollen lip and nearly healed cut on her temple. It would scar he observed and he felt something flutter inside of him.

She looked so fragile while she slept. The hate in her eyes was absent and her shrewish tongue was muted. She was the type of creature that inspired men to war, to fight to honor, protect and cherish her. To own her. Perhaps he was wrong to introduce her to the horrors of the universe. It would spoil her innocent beauty, taint her purity. Maybe that was what made her so irresistible, the fact that she knew no evil until he darkened her door.

She stirred in her sleep and her eyes fluttered open. Her wide eyes showed no wariness until they locked onto his shadowy form. As she recognized him, the fear and hate rose quickly to the surface and Vegeta felt an answering bitterness seethe inside of him. She gathered the blankets tightly to her chest, drawing her leg under the covers with her. She slowly and deliberately curled her body into a low crouch up against the head board, as if quick movements would spur him into attacking her.

He sneered in disgust at her and threw a bundle of clothes on the foot of her bed. He then tossed a rounded fruit to her, which she caught deftly. Its tempting aroma drifted to her nose and without a second thought she bit into the fruit hungrily. Its sweet juice burst into her mouth and she closed her eyes, moaning with pleasure. Vegeta felt his gut tighten at the sound and he tamped down the surge of desire.

"Get dressed and meet me in the galley." He barked, disrupting her meal. He turned on his heel and strode from the room without looking back. As he exited, Bulma couldn't stop herself from sticking her tongue out at his retreating back.

She quickly finished the fruit, licking her fingers to catch every last drop. Her stomach rumbled demandingly and she hopped out of bed. She turned on the light and sorted through the pile of clothing Vegeta had thrown on the bed. He had brought her two pairs of pants and two tops that were identical and no undergarments. She snorted in derision. Vegeta was obviously not a male who knew how to shop.

She shook out the pants and examined them with dismay. They were black, leather, low riders. The top was also black leather that was fashioned like a fitted bodice with corset strays in the back and small hooks up the front. It was definitely tight enough to work as a bra, since hers was ruined, but it was not her usual style of dress.

She slipped the pants over her bare hips, ignoring her only pair of soiled panties on the ground. She wrestled herself into the bodice, frowning as she buttoned up the front. She looked herself over in the mirror and rolled her eyes.

"I think I have seen this TV show." She muttered to herself. Strap a gun to her hip and tattoo some barb wire around her upper arm and she would be good to go. She shoved her breasts into place, noticing with a smirk that they looked bigger. The top forced her shoulders back, holding her ribs in place and improved her posture. There was no way that she was going to be able to slouch like she normally did and still breathe.

She pulled on a pair of sturdy, black boots that Vegeta had provided her, to complete the ensemble. What the hell? Did Vegeta think she was some sort of biker bitch? Black leather was nice and all, if you wanted to go out and play bad girl for the night with your boyfriend, but this was just ridicules. Plus, without any underwear she was going to chaff in these pants. Leather just doesn't breathe. She raked her fingers through her sleep tangled hair, taming it briefly, before she noticed a brush sitting on the bed as well.

She sunk down on the edge of the bed, eying the brush warily before picking it up. Vegeta getting her clothes she could understand. After all, she couldn't go around in the rags she was wearing, but she had never imagined that he would think to buy her something as frivolous as a comb. She cocked her head to the side, running her thumb along the bristles. He had obviously thought about it, which meant he had thought about her in some small way. She smiled brightly, clutching it to her chest, inanely pleased for some reason. He couldn't have made her happier if he had brought back chocolate fudge ice cream. Well, maybe that was going a little too far, but she was defiantly ecstatic.

She rushed over to the mirror, patiently pulling the comb through her tangled hair, gently working out the knots that had gnarled her hair for the last several days. She winced a couple of times as the muscles pulled the bite wound on her upper back, but she didn't stop until her hair finally flowed smoothly over her shoulders. She did one last twirl in front of the mirror and ran out of the room. Her stomach was furiously demanding more food.

Bulma rushed into the galley, her bright eyes raking over the boxes of food that were piled up against the walls. Vegeta turned away from the pantry he was stocking to watch her bounce across the room and up to the bar. His gaze was drawn to her up thrust breasts and her tightly nipped waist. He hooded his eyes before she noticed his perusal and turned his body subtly away, but cocked his head to the side so he could observe her. She instantly began to rifle through the boxes and quickly found the store of fruit that he had given her earlier. She happily crunched away while she settled herself into a chair, flashing him a pleased smile. Vegeta was momentarily dumbstruck. Why was she so happy all the sudden? She reached for another piece of fruit and Vegeta growled.

"Don't eat so quickly or you will be sick, idiot." Bulma's face fell, but she dropped the fruit and sat back in her chair. After being without food for so long she would have to pace herself or she else her stomach would rebel violently.

"Looks like you got plenty of food." Bulma chirped and Vegeta ignored her.

"Did you get water too?" He nodded subtly and Bulma smiled.

"Thanks for the clothes and brush Vegeta." He glared at her from the corner of his eye, but he didn't respond. "Although, these aren't exactly what I would pick out for myself. I mean black leather." She plucked at the bodice, winging a finely arched brow at him and a tiny smile bloomed at the corner of her bruised lips. "Is there something you're not telling me Vegeta?"

He paused in the middle of placing a box on a high shelf. He felt his lower back tighten and tingle at her words. Was she actually teasing him? Him, the mad dog killer of the universe?

He dropped his hand and looked back at her, his face completely void of his confusion. "It was either that or whore's garb. Choices were limited, woman." His words were clipped and even. He didn't expend the extra energy required for a lengthy explanation, just enough to convey his purpose. Quick and efficient, just like him. He turned to another box, pulling out more dried goods.

"Oh." She thought about what she had seen the women wearing on the planet and she decided instantly that she preferred the clothes that he had picked out. At least she was decently covered. As an additional bonus, she did kind of look like a badass and the first step to being something is looking like it. She could already feel a cocky shift in her attitude.

You didn't get me any undergarments though." Bulma wiggled uncomfortably at the thought that she wasn't wearing any panties right now. It was a strange sensation, like she was doing something bad.

"There were none." He muttered while he sorted through the food.

She frowned at him while eying the fruit in the box. Everything that Vegeta was handling was unfamiliar to her. She couldn't even read the alien writing on the side of the boxes. She wondered how she could remedy that. Somehow she didn't think that were any Japanese to alien primers floating around in the universe somewhere. She knew for certain that she could eat the fruit as it was, but everything else was completely foreign to her.

"They were out of panties?" Her voice dripped with disbelief as her fingers walked their way across the counter towards the box with the fruit.

Vegeta turned towards her, moving the box out of her reach as he leaned on the counter to look her in the eye.

"Just because your pathetic, backwards race wears undergarments, does not mean everyone else in the universe does."

She paused, half leaned over the counter, her mouth wide open at his words. "Oh." Was the only thing she could think to say.

Vegeta rolled his eyes and pushed another box towards her. "Here, put this food away and then cook us something to eat, woman."

Bulma sat back and frowned at the Saiyan in front of her. "I'll put the food away, but I'm not cooking anything. I don't even know what half that shit is."

Vegeta glowered back at her. "Figure it out."

"I can't 'figure it out'. I don't even have a cook book. Not that I could read it." She muttered to herself.

"You're the woman, so you had better figure it out, cause I want dinner in a half an hour." Vegeta stomped around the counter and towards the door.

"Listen here you chauvinist baboon. Just because I'm a woman, that does not mean I know how to cook. I _am_ the richest woman in the world. I have three four star cooks that prepare food just for me and one world famous dessert chef. I have never even made toast for myself." She preened. "So if you want dinner in a half an hour, I suggest you cook it."

Vegeta stopped in the middle of the room and slowly turned to face her. His blank features sent a chill down her spine and she swallowed hard. He stalked up to her, pinning her up against the counter. His dark eyes flashed murderously and she was instantaneously reminded that she wasn't some super chick from TV, but a mousy scientist who didn't have the strength of a gnat.

"You will have dinner fixed by the time I get back or I just might remember that you kept me caged in a tiny cell for months. I don't think you would like it if I locked you in the dark utility closet and only let you out to change course, now would you?"

Dear Kami, no. She couldn't imagine being locked in a tight space, in the dark no less. She would go insane. The walls would close in on her. She would die from…Her eyes locked with his and she saw the darkness that resided there. Oh. She had done that to him. She had locked him up and thrown away the key and he had yet to punish her. Key word… yet. Instead, he got her clothes, food and a brush.

Bulma gulped and shook her head. "Good, now get on it woman." He spun away from her and sauntered out the room, leaving Bulma red faced. She slowly turned and eyed the kitchen, panic gurgling in her stomach.

A half an hour later the doors slid open to the galley, revealing a disaster zone. Food was dripping off the ceiling and down the cabinets. A red powder was dusted over everything in a thin film and black smoke drifted through the room. A goopy goo was boiling over on the stove, the white mush spilling over the rim of the pot and onto the surface. The remnants of burnt food littered the counters, intermingled with dirty bowls and empty containers.

Bulma stood in the center of the holocaust, a creamy substance matted in her hair and powder smudges on her cheeks and chin. She met Vegeta's gaze defiantly, but her bravado quickly disappeared under his unwavering gaze.

"I tried Vegeta, but it's impossible." She wailed forlornly, the beginning of self pitying tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The stress of the last few days, hell the last few months weighed down on her. Normally, she would have viewed this as a challenge, but she wasn't in the right frame of mind right now to accomplish the task set before her. She didn't want to be locked in the utility closet.

Vegeta made his way slowly towards her and Bulma began to wail louder. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, her shoulders drooping dejectedly. He stopped in front of her, desperately trying to prevent his lips from twitching when he saw something inedible drip off her head and onto her shoulder. He grasped her by the waist and sat her up on the counter by the sink, grabbing a damp rag.

"Quit that caterwauling woman."

As soon as she felt the burning heat of his hands on her hips, the sobs that were forming in her throat died a nasty, premature death, along with her voice. She sat stock still on the counter, suddenly very uncertain of what was going to happen.

When he turned back to her, he almost couldn't contain his laughter. She had her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her knees locked together and her big, watery, blue eyes watched him warily. She was obviously terrified of his next move.

Time to fuck with her.

He schooled his face into an implacable mask, allowing his eyes to darken into unreadable shadows. He could smell her fear as her adrenaline spiked and sweat beaded on her upper lip.

He lifted his hand, snickering silently as she flinched away. With uncharacteristic gentleness he ran the damp cloth over her cheek and down to her chin. Slowly and meticulously he cleaned the food from her face, edging closer to her with every swipe of the cloth, until he was leaning against her knees.

Although I don't believe this chapter to be a lemon, I don't want to upset anyone's delicate sensibilities. You can view the rest of this chapter on my website which you can access through my bio.

Tempest


	12. From Bad to Worse

Disclaimer:  I don't own DBZ.  If I did it would have involved a lot more romance.

A/N:  Look, in the anime, somehow Bulma managed to create a translation device.  I have no idea how, since she didn't have a sample of languages to draw on, but she did it.  She's a genius right?  Right…

Chapter Twelve

From Bad to Worse

Bulma was hunched over a makeshift desk in her quarters, muttering obscenities under her breath.  Since the incident in the kitchen two days ago, she hadn't dared leave her room except for the absolute necessities.  She ventured out for food, water and to raid some of the ship's control panels for electronic microchips, but only when she thought that Vegeta was either asleep or in a different part of the vessel.  So far she had been successful in avoiding him, but she knew it would be impossible to continue to do so for months on end.

She couldn't stay with Vegeta.  It was just too dangerous.  The way he had kissed her in the kitchen was too real, too intense.

His intentions for her were clear in every nuance of his body, from the way he stalked up to her, to the way he smiled wolfishly in her direction.  If she hadn't bit him he would have fucked her right there on the kitchen counter.  The worse part was that she would have let him and probably would have had the most mind blowing orgasm of her life.

She couldn't let that to happen.  No matter what, she couldn't allow him to have that kind of power over her.  She wasn't about to become his sex kitten just because he snapped his fingers and kissed like a god.

She had to get away before something terrible happened.  Namek was months away and there was no way she was going to be able to resist Vegeta's allure for that long.  He was just too incredibly sexy to be healthy for any woman.

She tried to list out the reasons why she shouldn't hop into bed with him.  Morally wrong, aside.  He probably raped, tortured and murdered more people than she could possibly imagine.  Her brow furrowed in thought.  Not that he had ever said anything to her about raping.  He certainly boasted about his battle prowess, but never about preying on women.

Her biggest deterrent for not lusting after the monster should be Yamcha.  He was after all the love of her life, her hero, her lover and her friend.  She should be spending the hours longing for him, not fantasizing about the caress of a killer.  With a great deal of personal pain she finally admitted to herself that her memory of Yamcha was growing dim.  She could still recall the events of their life with perfect clarity, but his face was a blur.  He was becoming nothing more than a footnote in her past while her present was slapping her in the face with a vicious persistence that truly disgusted her.

Her most horrific problem was that her biggest reason for not seducing Vegeta herself was his murderous tendencies.  Not her love for Yamcha or her hate for Vegeta, both of which were melting away under a barrage of heightened awareness of who Vegeta was as a man and her burning lust for him.

No, it was his bloody past that stopped her.  She could not conceive of a man committing the atrocities he claimed to have and still have the iota of emotion one would need to have a relationship with anyone.  And therein lay her problem.  She just didn't have random sex with people because they turned her on.  She needed to have an emotional connection with them and that was impossible where Vegeta was concerned.  She just didn't understand him or his life.

Murder was wrong.  Mayhem was wrong.  Caring for him would be wrong.

Bulma's hand trembled and the soldering rod she was holding almost burned her.  With grim determination she tightened her grip and shoved her unruly thoughts out of her mind.

She had located an industrial planet about two day's flight from their coordinates in an escape pod.  After she was finished with her translation device she would make her escape.  Never again would she make the mistake of not understanding what people were saying around her.  She was confident that she would be able to trade some of her scientific genius for a ship on the planet.

She would leave Isis on autopilot for a day, after that Vegeta would be able to take control.  She was sure that he would make no effort to retrieve her, especially after she programmed Namek's coordinates into the navigator as an inducement to continue forward and leave her behind.  If he did decide to come for her, she would already be on the planet's surface before the much faster ship could catch up.  She would be able to hide amongst the rest of the ki-less masses and he would never be able to find her.

Bulma set down the rod and snapped the computer chip into place.  She eyed the choker that wrapped around her throat to translate anything she said into the local language and the nearly invisible ear pierce that would interpret all that was said to her.  She would escape and make her way home, to her family and to Yamcha.  Her plan was foolproof.

It had to work.  It just had too.

Bulma touched down planet side, several miles away from the nearest life sign. She didn't want to land in the middle of the city and she needed to conceal her craft just in case there were any unforeseen problems.

She exited the pod, stretching her arms above her head, mewling like a kitten.  She had been trapped in the small ship for two days and her muscles were sore with forced inactivity. The walk to town would take several hours and she would get plenty of exercise to work out her tight muscles.  She felt a burning flare in her shoulder and she grimaced in pain.  The bite wound on her back felt like it was getting worse but she hadn't been able to examine it since leaving Isis.  She concealed her pod the best she could with branches and quickly set out down the road towards the nearest settlement.

She trudged along the dirt path for several hours, the burning heat of the sun beating down on her.  Sweat rolled down her neck and between her shoulder blades, stinging the wound on her back.  She tightened her mouth in determination and kept going, methodically sorting through the filing cabinet in her mind.  She quietly examined all the technology she had stored there while trying to determine which one would be the best bargaining chip to get her a new ship.

She had picked up a stick and was using it to swipe mindlessly at the tall grass on the side of the road when she felt the first tremor.  The ground unexpectedly rocked beneath her feet, knocking her to her knees.  She looked up to see a wave of land rolling towards her in sea of tall grass and she braced herself for the impact.  The wave struck her and she stayed on her knees, riding the crest unstably.

Finally the ground stilled and she climbed gingerly to her feet, looking around her.  The ground had settled back into place as though nothing had happen, but she had seen enough earthquakes in Tokyo to know exactly what was going on.  She quickened her pace towards the city, certain that they would need her medical and technical knowledge to help with any survivors.

In the distance she could see great spiraling plumes of smoke rising over a hill and she started to jog in that direction.  By the time Bulma crested the hill the ground had mostly stopped shaking except for a few quivers here and there.

A small gasp escaped her lips and her eyes widened in horror at the site of the smoking ruins sprawled out before her.  The once towering skyscrapers of the grand metropolis lay broken in the streets and fires peppered the area, the black smoke stinging her eyes.

She jumped when she heard a loud crash and she watched another damaged building collapse into the street in a tangle of steel and concrete.  In a daze she moved down the hill towards the outskirts of the city, only one thought ringing in her head.  She had to try to help the remaining survivors of this tragedy.

She slipped into a narrow alleyway, noting absently that the sun was blotted out by a larger skyscraper that leaned precariously against a smaller building, making the alley into a dark cave.  Bricks fell from above, shattering on the pavement at her feet, making her duck and dodge to avoid being knocked unconscious.

She neared the end of the alley and she breached the inner street of the city.  She clasped her hand over her mouth in dismay when she saw the bodies that lay in the street, some smoking from fire while others were crushed under debris.  Some looked like they had plummeted to their deaths from the tall buildings, their bodies splattered on the pavement like overripe watermelons.

She moved from body to body, methodically checking them for any signs of life, while trying desperately not to lose the contents of her stomach.  Bulma suddenly noticed that it was eerily quiet and in fact there weren't even the barking of dogs or the chirping of birds to disrupt the morgue like silence.  Bulma was sure that she should be hearing sirens in the distance for emergency crews or at the very least the shouts of the survivors.

As she continued through the bloody streets she subtly become aware of a foreign noise, like the high pitched whine of a machine.  She paused, looking around her in bewilderment, unable to identify it.  She heard a clatter to her left down an alley and she quickly stepped towards it, hoping that she had finally found someone alive.

As she neared the end of the alley the whine of the machine grew louder as if it was coming down the street she had just been on.  She turned around so she could get a glimpse of it as it passed.  Maybe it was a rescue vehicle, if so she needed to wave it down and get help.

Suddenly she felt a large sweaty palm cover her mouth and she was pressed up against the hard body of a man.  Instinctively she struggled and the man tightened his grip on her ribs with his thick arm that was banded around her waist.

"Shush."  A voice hissed in her ear, before he dragged her down to crouch behind some concrete debris.  The whine grew louder and through the opening of the alleyway she could see a small round probe that hovered about four feet off the ground.  The top half to the machine rotated in a circle as though it was getting a 360 degree view of the carnage around it.

As it turned towards the alley entrance a red beam shot out of the glass visor and swept every inch of the darkened area.  The man behind her grew very still and squeezed her tight in warning to do the same.

Finally after what seemed to be hours of taut expectation, the light clicked off and the probe continued down the street, its tell tale whine growing fainter with its departure.

The man behind her stood up releasing her at the same time.  Bulma whirled around, anger snapping from her icy eyes.  She was momentarily stunned to see a startling handsome blond man with crystal blue eyes and strong features.  He towered over her at an impressive height of at least six foot five, every inch of which was hard, lean muscle.  The close cut of his hair and his dress obviously marked him as military and his honed muscles and stern face told her that he took his job very seriously.  Of course the weapon that he held in his hands tipped her off as well.  It looked like some sort of assault rifle and she wasn't to keen on having it pointed in her direction.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, mister."  She shrieked and the man's face instantly darkened as he grabbed her none too gently by the arm.

"Shut up!  Do you want that thing to come back here?  Come on."  Without waiting for her agreement he dragged her from the alley and into a dilapidated building.  They entered into a large empty room that had a row of dirty windows straight ahead of her and various stone pillars that kept the rest of the building from crashing down on them.  She could see piles of trash and barrels where fires had been burned and she knew instantly that this was an old abandoned building that was only used by the more undesirables of the city.

She was about to complain loudly when she caught sight of the other inhabitants of the room and the shrill words died on her tongue.  A young woman about her age with strawberry blonde hair glanced up from the ground where she was sitting, her pale blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears.  A young boy about sixteen glared at her from under dark green hair that had obviously been dyed.  Bulma could see a streak of blood that smudged his cheek before dripping down under the collar of his jacket.  Finally, her eyes drifted to an old man, well into his seventies, who stood with stately assurance as he leaned against his cane, his wispy hair smoothed over his balding head.  He gave no sign that he was anywhere but inside his parlor receiving guests.

The thing that struck Bulma the most was the hopeless despair that shone in every one of their eyes.  It was then that she knew that she hadn't stumbled onto a planet that was suffering from seismic seizures, but something far more sinister.

"Are you an off worlder?"  The teenage boy asked her, curiosity lighting his eyes momentarily.

"Yes.  How did you know?"  Bulma asked.

"Blue hair is totally blossin."  The boy snickered and Bulma frowned in confusion.

"Blossin?"

"It means dandy or neat.  Kids and their slang these days."  The old man said gravely, his eyes sparkling warmly.  "My name is Orlander and that is Jet and Aleah."  The man motioned to first the young boy and then the woman.  "Behind you is Lieutenant Ricker."

The man who had brought her began to move restlessly behind her, checking the entrances and making sure that they were secure.  Bulma eyed him for a second, before turning her attention back to the other three in the room.  For the first time she realized that everyone she had seen so far had differing shades of blonde hair.  Even the victims in the street had light hair, with the exception of the kid, but she suspected that if it wasn't dyed it would be blonde as well.

"My name is Bulma.  Are you survivors of the quake?" 

The boy snorted rudely at her comment, shaking his head like he thought she was the biggest moron he had ever met.  He turned away to wander over to a nearby pile of rubble, kicking over a bucket to make himself a seat.

"That was no quake ma'am."  The military man answered her while unceasingly double checking the perimeter.

Bulma's eyes widened in shock as she glanced at the others in askance.  "What else could have caused such a terrible calamity?"

There was a deafening silence in the room and Bulma felt icy fingers of dread trail down her spine.

"Frieza."  Jet muttered under his breath and a bolt of recognition struck Bulma.  She had only heard that name once before.  Almost as an accident it had fallen from Vegeta's lips.  The look on his face at the time was full of hate and self pity and the dread inside of her tightened its grasp on Bulma's spine.

"Who?"  Bulma asked quietly almost afraid to raise her voice when speaking of what she instinctively knew was a monster.  It was paramount to locking yourself in a dark bathroom and chanting Bloody Mary while staring into the mirror.  If you said its name enough times the monster would come to rip you apart and eat you for supper.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare dumbfounded at her.  Even the military man ceased his obsessive perimeter check to stare oddly at her.

"Don't you know anything?"  The boy asked her scornfully.

"Should I know?"  Bulma glared back at the boy, offended that he questioned her genius.  It wasn't her fault that she didn't know about their boogeyman.  She was a stranger to this part of the galaxy.

"Of course you should.  Everyone knows of Frieza."  For the first time the young woman spoke and Bulma looked closely at her.  She was attractive in her own way if a little on the pudgy side.  She looked like she enjoyed one to many sweets in her life and not had enough exercise, but she was in no way obese.  She had a fragile air around her that begged others to take care of her.  The classic victim Bulma thought to herself.

"Yah.  He's the ruler of the universe.  The warlord of the seven hells.  The devil himself.  Destroyer of worlds.  Murderer of civilizations…"

"Enough, old man."  Lt. Ricker cut the old man off in mid sentence and Bulma was more than a little thankful.  As Orlander had rambled on, his face had grown grayer and his pale, aged eyes had glittered with ill contained malice.  Aleah had begun to tremble uncontrollably and the boy curled up into a tight ball as he sat on his bucket.  They too were afraid that muttering the monster's name would bring him to them and there was nothing more they feared than that.

"Frieza is the lord of this quadrant of space.  His army is composed of the fiercest fighters in the nine galaxies.  Only those societies who haven't traveled into space have never heard of him."  The handsome man gave Bulma a hard look and she fidgeted under his stare.  Although his words were censuring she was struck with an obscenely odd thought.  This was the type of man she should be attracted too.  The handsome hero type, not the dark killer, but all she could think was that he was far too tall for her.

"I am the first to travel out of our solar system."  Bulma muttered almost apologetically at the ground.  She felt like she was undereducated street kid who was trying to impress college students.  When she looked up she was stunned to see the sad looks that everyone was directing her way.

"When you don't return, your world will send out more explorers and they will draw the eyes of Frieza.  Your world is destined to die."  The militant man was solemn as though he was delivering a eulogy and perhaps he was.  If what he said was true then her world may not make it through the next century, maybe even the next decade.

"What do you mean when I don't return?"  Bulma questioned sharply, panic joined the dread that was nesting in her stomach.  Things were just going from bad to worse.

"There are only two types of worlds under Frieza's rule."  Aleah said, her voice tinkling in the quiet room.

"Enslaved or dead."  The old man stated matter-of-factly, pity showing clearly on his face.

"And it looks like we have been slated for death."  The teenager said bitterly.  He sat hunched over, his arms wrapped around his stomach as if he was in pain.

"This destruction wasn't caused by a quake.  It was a purge team."  Lt. Ricker stared at her unemotionally.  No pity for her shone in his eyes as he gripped his gun in his white knuckled hands.

Bulma trembled under the onslaught of information they fed to her.  She knew vaguely what a purge was.  Vegeta had spoke of it several times, claiming that once he got free of his prison that he was going to purge Earth of its inhabitants.  He never went into great detail but she understood the gist of what he was saying.  Everyone died, no one survived.

"So he is going to kill everyone on this world?"  Bulma squeaked lifelessly.  She couldn't believe her ill luck.  She had created a foolproof plan to escape Vegeta only to end up dying on a strange world by the hands of his fellow soldiers.  She looked around at the sad truth that was reflected in everyone's eyes and she felt helplessness well up inside of her.  Who would save her world if she died here?

"Only the strongest will be taken alive."  The military man's hands tightened on his gun and Bulma felt another shiver run up her spine.

"What will happen to them?"  She almost didn't want to know.  She wanted to go home and crawl into her nice warm safe bed while her mother told her it would be alright.

"They become unwilling soldiers in Frieza's army."  He replied.

Bulma felt a spark of hope bloom inside of her at his words.  "If these men are so strong and unwilling, why don't they overthrow Frieza?"  Bulma's question was met with nervous laughter from the others.

"No one is that strong."  The woman replied, horror at Bulma's suggestion echoing in her words.

"Even if all the men banded together they would have no chance of defeating him."  Lt. Ricker said condescendingly.

"Surely no one is that strong?"  Bulma asked in disbelief.

"Frieza is."  Aleah stated in a haunted voice that reminded Bulma of misty graveyards and mausoleums.

"There must be something we can do."  Bulma was a genius.  She would not allow some power hungry madman kill her like she was nothing but a useless gnat.  She could out think her way out of any situation.  This was nothing different.  She was met with a round of shaking heads and sad eyes.  They believed that they would die here today and she couldn't convince them otherwise.

"There is nothing.  Our only hope is to stay hidden until the purge team leaves."  The woman sounded unconvinced and the Jet chimed in right after her in a brighter more caustic voice.

"Yah and pray that we can dodge the extermination team that comes to clean up afterwards."

"There has to be something else.  I refuse to sit here and wait to die."  Bulma raised her chin a notch and stared down the others.  If all else failed they could try to make it out of the city to her ship, but there was a reason she hadn't mentioned that option yet.  The small pod could only carry one other person and she didn't think she was equipped with the ability to decide who lived and who died.

"Young lady, sometimes in life there is nothing left to do but wait."  The old man stood unsteadily on his feet, but he looked at her with the clear unclouded eyes of aged wisdom.

"But…"  Bulma trailed off, despair eating at her.

"There is something."  The military man offered unexpectedly.  The all turned to look at him with started, hopeful expressions on their faces.  Bulma looked towards him and was slightly unsettled when she noticed his piercing gaze was on her.  Something glimmered in his eyes and she recognized it as respect, something she never saw in Vegeta's cold gaze.

"On the other side of the city there is a military bunker."  The man started but he was cut off by the boy.

"Across the city!"  He exclaimed in disbelief.

"That's too far."  Agreed Orlander.

"We will die for sure."  Wailed Aleah forlornly.

"In the bunker there is a ship that could carry all of us to safety."  The man continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"The purgers will blast us to bits before we even break orbit."  Jet claimed bitterly.

"It's fully armed and more than capable of taking on a purge ship."  Lt. Ricker explained confidently.

"But it's so far."  The woman exclaimed frailly, her reluctance to leave her rabbit hole clear in her entire shaking frame.

"What choice do we have?"  Lt. Ricker was becoming agitated now and Bulma felt his agony.  As the most qualified person here to lead the group he was burdened with the responsibility of trying to keep all these people alive and they weren't cooperating with him to do so.

"We can stay here until they are gone."  Replied Orlander reasonably.

"Yah and wait for them to hunt us down."  Bulma was surprised by Jet's sudden change of attitude, but she supposed the mention of an armed ship changed his mind.  She guessed that it didn't matter what planet she was on, talk of guns always made boys feel safer.

"But Aleah is right.  It's too far."  The old man's voice was becoming frailer as slow realization sunk in that he may be outnumbered.

"You are just saying that because you are feeble, old man.  You should stay behind anyways.  You will just slow us down."  The boy snarled with anger and Bulma was shocked at his cutthroat words.

"Stop it!"  Bulma had enough of their childish arguing.  It was time someone took control of the situation.  "I say we put it to a vote."  She offered democratically.  "Who thinks we should go?"

Lt. Ricker, Jet and Bulma raised their hands while looking expectantly at Orlander and Aleah.  The old man slumped his shoulders dejectedly as he was outvoted while he nodded his agreement.  Aleah just began to sob softly and Bulma's mouth tightened with strain.

"Right.  Then we are going."  Bulma knew the trip would be hard on Aleah and the old man, but she really didn't see a choice in the matter.  If they were going to die, they may as well do so while trying to save themselves.

Bulma looked around at her companions.  Aleah was curled up in a corner crying to herself, while the old man patted her comfortingly on the back.  The boy had wandered off and was poking stick at the pile of rubble that he had retrieved the bucket from.  Bulma could tell that he was trying his best not to let his own fears show as he turned his back on the group.

Eventually, she met the crystal blue eyes of Lt. Ricker, their one hope.  He was the only one with a gun and who knew where to find the ship.  He gave her a reassuring nod, but all Bulma could think was that she wished that Vegeta was there.


	13. Devils Feast

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

Warning: Contains content that some may find disturbing. This is a gory chapter and should only be read by those with strong stomachs.

Chapter Thirteen

Devils Feast

Darkness descended on the broken city like a fanged monster ready to devour the rotting carcass. The once magnificent metropolis had been turned into a graveyard for its inhabitants, their despairing ghost forever restless.

Bulma and the survivors waited impatiently for the darkness to creep into every corner so it would shroud their dangerous trek through the gleaming metal and stone bones of the city. Jet paced restlessly, zipping and unzipping his jacket nervously. The old man stood quietly to the side, watching them with sad, knowing eyes. Lt. Ricker gripped his gun tightly as he faced the door to the outside, dread and adrenaline making his body bowstring tight.

Finally, Bulma's gaze fell on Aleah who huddled in the corner where she had remained inconsolable for the entire afternoon. Bulma walked over to the quivering woman, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder and leaning close to whisper to her.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly.

"I don't want to go out there." Aleah replied brokenly, her voice trembling with fear.

"You want to get to the ship, don't you?" Bulma was trying to be reasonable, to show her that the reward was worth the risk.

"Yes, but I'm afraid." A small clear tear trailed down the woman's pale face and Bulma's chest clenched in response.

"We are all afraid. I can't stop shaking." Bulma told her honestly as she held out her hand in front of her to demonstrate, but Aleah ignored her.

"I don't want to die." Aleah replied with her own form of honesty that chilled Bulma's blood. She didn't want to die either, but she wasn't going to sit here and wait for death to find her.

"You aren't going to die." Bulma tried to reassure her.

"I will if I go out there." Aleah hid her face stubbornly in the fold of her arms, drawing her knees closer to her chest.

"You won't, I promise. Here hold my hand and we will go together. Pretty soon we are going to be on that ship sipping champagne." Bulma held out her hand, smiling at the girl with confidence that she didn't really feel. Bulma refused to die today. Not at the hands of these monsters.

The woman raised her head, curiosity and fear mingling in her teary eyes. "What's that?"

"When we get to my world we will have a whole bottle and we can't forget the strawberries." Bulma gave the girl a reassuring wink and a trembling smile that coaxed her into giving her hand. Bulma pulled her up to a standing position and they walked silently over to the door. Lt. Ricker gave her an approving nod, before he turned to face the door, lifting his gun into place as he moved forward and out into the darkness.

They made their way through the city, linking hands for comfort. Lt. Ricker stayed several paces ahead, scanning the area with hawk like intensity before motioning them forward. Jet was at the head of the linked hands, following the Lieutenant doggedly, pulling Orlander after him. Aleah clung to the old man and finally Bulma brought up the rear, tying her best to make sure that no one was following them without panicking at the sensation that the swirling darkness was closing in on them like a silent predator.

They didn't carry any light, allowing only the pale moon to guide them. Aleah had cried softly when Lt. Ricker had denied her request for light, stating that it would only attract Seekers or worse the Purgers themselves. Seekers, Bulma had found out were the small probe she had seen earlier. They were programmed to look for any movement, not associated with the crumbling of buildings and report back to the Purgers via their scouters. Nasty little tattletales in other words.

The group of survivors climbed carefully through the broken debris, while Lt. Ricker waited impatiently. Bulma knew that he could have easily crossed twice as much ground by now, but they slowed him down considerably. Bulma was impressed by his determination to save them, no matter how unappreciative they were. Most people would have abandoned them by now.

She was the last over a twisted heap of metal and Lt. Ricker held out his hand to help her. She slid her small palm into his much larger one, waiting for the tell tale shiver of attraction she knew she should feel. As she stepped down she looked into his blue eyes and behind cold gaze of a man bent on protecting his charges was an awareness of her as a woman. He was attracted to her, but he knew it would have to wait until they were safe. Bulma gifted him with a tight smile, wondering why she wasn't fawning over him with her usual girlish giggles as was her way when she saw any handsome man.

He drifted ahead of her. melting into the darkness and Aleah reached for her hand, seeking reassurance. Together they moved forward single file, every one of them aware that the slightest noise could bring their doom.

Bulma felt a sharp tug as Aleah lost her footing and stumbled, pulling her down to the ground with her. Bulma landed painfully on her knees, but she barely noticed as her brain nearly stuttered to a horrified stop. Before she could even tell herself to react, she had her hand over Aleah's mouth, muffling the scream that welled up from the girl's throat. Bulma determinedly clamped her own lips shut as she pulled Aleah back against her.

She stared down at where Aleah had fallen. Her hands had landed forward to brace herself, right into the chest cavity of a decapitated torso. Aleah brought her hands up in front of her face, screaming silently behind Bulma's palm as she stared at her bloody hands and forearms.

"Shush. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay." Bulma whispered into her ear while rocking her gently back and forth.

Lt. Ricker appeared out of the darkness, taking in the scene with a grim face. Without a word he unhooked a water bottle from his belt and poured the cleansing liquid over Aleah's hands, until no blood remained. He reattached the bottle and reached down to pull Aleah to her feet and out of Bulma's arms.

He captured her by the forearms, looking into her haunted eyes. "We don't have time to do this now. I know you are scared, but there is no turning back. If you want to live we have to go forward Aleah." His voice was soft and soothing, but with an edge of authority that demanded obedience. Aleah nodded her head slowly, allowing him to lead her away to the others.

Bulma was left alone in the dark with the body. Earlier she had moved from cadaver to cadaver, unafraid while she checked for survivors, but now she felt fear crawling down her spine, urging her to get to her feet and run…to run and never look back. She swallowed hard and looked away from the body only to come face to face with its missing head.

Its soulless eyes stared blankly at her from the steel beam it was impaled on. Long blond hair straggled down around the face of a young girl, her mouth sagging open in silent agony. Bulma bit her tongue as she choked back the scream that threatened to escape her lips. She darted to her feet, stumbling towards the other survivors, towards the only other living people in the dark.

She ran headlong into Aleah, nearly causing the already panicked girl to cry out. Bulma patted her arm and smiled at her in the dark while trying desperately to drag air into her laboring lungs. She hadn't run far, but terror was squeezing her insides like a vise grip.

The moon crept up into the night sky as they trudged silently through the dark. Every step they took became heavy and less precise as exhaustion weighed on them. Finally, Lt Ricker called a halt after Orlander fell for the third time. If they continued without resting they would only become nosier as they were less and less careful.

They hunkered down in small hollow area that was surrounded by broken cement and rubble from a fallen building. Bulma braced her back against the cold stone and pulled her knees up to her chest. She stared up at the patch of sky made clear by the lack of city lights.

Ricker positioned himself to her left and little above her so he could see out into the night for any intruders. She was startled when she felt him nudge her shoulder.

"Here, take this." He held out his sidearm that he had kept in his belt up until now. The black metal seemingly sucked in the surrounding darkness as it shimmered briefly in the moonlight.

"No, I can't." Bulma was sickened by the implication of the gun. She might have to kill someone to survive and she knew she wouldn't be able to do it. Just looking at the gun made her feel queasy. She remembered the last time she had held a gun and it made her want to cry.

"Why not?" Ricker seemed genuinely insulted that she did not accept his gift of his firearm and Bulma felt instantly contrite.

"I could never kill anyone." She tried to explain while failing miserably. Looking around her she could see that these people would kill anyone who tried to take their lives. Namely those invaders, those murderers, those monsters who had killed everyone that they loved.

"You'll get over that attitude quick enough when one of Frieza's soldiers is charging you." The man said in a disgusted tone.

"No they are living creatures, like you and me. Men who had their lives taken away from them." Bulma responded passionately. For some reason that she didn't dare give voice to, it was very important for her to believe that.

"They're not men, they are monsters." Aleah hissed scornfully and Bulma was shocked to see the soft spoken woman with so much hate in her eyes.

"You don't understand what you are dealing with Bulma." Her name falling from Lt. Ricker's lips caused her to turn her head to stare at him. He gave her a look full of so much sadness, anger and pity that she was rooted to the spot.

"Why don't you tell me? What does Frieza do that makes them so loyal to him?" Bulma questioned eagerly. A small voice in her head warned her that she wasn't asking to learn more about Frieza, but to learn about Vegeta. She wanted to know what made him tick. Why he was such a complex man. Such a horrible monster.

"No, they are anything but loyal. They hate him more than we do." Ricker replied, a sneer firmly on his lips.

"Frieza is an artist at destroying someone's mind. Most everyone in Frieza's army is insane." Aleah voice drifted into the conversation, snagging Bulma's attention away from Ricker.

"How does he do that?" How did one go about destroying someone's mind? Was that even possible?

"Usually Frieza gets his men when they are just youngsters, barely old enough to understand what's what." Orlander offered gravely.

"He tells them that if they don't do what he says that he'll kill their mother or sister or whatever." Jet had been uncharacteristically silent up until now, looked at her with cold, dead eyes.

"After a few years he tells the children that something awful happened to their world and destroyed it." Aleah whispered while she stared down the ground.

"His favorite is to tell them that it was destroyed by a meteor shower." A cord of memory struck Bulma hard and painfully. She remembered Vegeta telling her that his world had been destroyed by a meteor shower. Had that been a lie? A lie told by Frieza to keep Vegeta in line.

"What really happens to their planet?" Bulma asked shakily, afraid to hear the answer.

"Frieza destroys them. It's all part of his plan." Jet replied listlessly.

"This serves to further isolate the subject." Bulma was stunned by Ricker's robotic analytical response.

"You see, after so many years of committing horrific sins in the name of Frieza to protect their loved ones they are suddenly left with nothing and no one. Their only purpose in life is destroyed, along with their moral fiber and any hope of being a normal person. There is no one left in the universe who will accept what they have become. There is only Frieza." As she spoke Aleah stared up at the moon, her face illuminated by the ghostly light. "They have no where else to go." The sadness in her voice drifted across the group causing them to shutter.

"They are nothing but homicidal monsters that care for nothing or anyone." Lt. Ricker finished Aleah's thought, saying the words that she didn't dare.

"But surely they create bonds amongst themselves." Bulma felt panic flutter in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't let the image of an uncaring, unloved monster, whose only pleasure was derived from killing, be burned into her mind. Somewhere, somehow Vegeta must have learned to care for something. He wasn't just a mindless murderer. He couldn't be.

"No, Frieza is too cunning for that." Ricker replied.

"Yah, he's one sick bastard." Jet offered.

"What do you mean?" Bulma felt cold sweat roll down her back and the bit wound stung.

"He makes sure that his men trust no one, even the people they grew up with." Orlander stated gravely as he leaned against his cane that stood between his knees.

"How?" Her mouth formed the word, but sound barely escaped her. However, everyone knew what she asked and they were more than eager to respond. An image of Vegeta's bald headed friend rose up in her mind. What was his name? Nadia, Nadpa, no it was Nappa.

"Everyone is always competing to gain Frieza's favor. No one wants to be punished by him. Long time comrades are eager to sell each other out to save their own hides." Lt. Ricker sneered with disgust and everyone nodded in agreement.

"Imagine that you have been sent on a mission with someone you've known since boyhood and he the turns around and blows your head off, because Frieza ordered him to." Jet said with sadistic relish. "Everyone you know is your potential executioner. You would grow to distrust everyone."

"Are the punishments that bad that they will do anything to avoid it?" Bulma asked wide eyed.

"Worse." The old man intoned wisely.

"Why do you think that they are all schizo?" The teenager chimed in recklessly. Lt. Ricker twitched and the boy settled down, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"I heard from my sister's friend's cousin Harry that he actually met a soldier and talked to him." Orlander offered with a strange sense of pride.

"Yah right, old man. He would be dead." Jet responded scornfully.

"No, the soldier didn't have orders to kill him and Harry was extremely respectful to him."

"Whatever." The teenager rolled his eyes at the old man.

"Anyways, he told me that there is a place at the bottom of Frieza's ship called The Hole." Orlander leaned forward as he imparted his tale. Unconsciously everyone else leaned forward as well, eager to hear it. All they needed was a campfire and they could be out in the woods telling ghost stories. The thought almost made Bulma feel better.

"It's only two feet across, three feet wide and four feet tall. They throw disobedient soldiers in there and leave them without food or water for weeks on end."

"That's horrible!" Bulma exclaimed. "They would die of starvation."

"You would think so, but when they toss them in there they dump bucketfuls of cockroaches and beetles in with them, burying them up to there necks in insects. If they want to live they have to eat the bugs and drink their own blood." Orlander's gruesome tale was met by a circle of disgusted faces as they digested what they told him.

"That's not the worse part." The old man leaned even closer.

"How could it be any worse?" Aleah's horrified voice floated over them.

"They say it's haunted." Orlander almost smiled with satisfaction at the shocked rush of breath from the crowd.

"Impossible." Lt. Ricker scoffed.

"No it's true. A soldier went insane while in there and he beat in his own brains on the walls."

"No way." Jet gasped in awe.

"Enough of your ghost stories, it's time for us to move." With a light groan everyone got slowly to their feet, dreading going out into the night again.

"Are you sure you won't take this?" Lt. Ricker held the gun out to her again and she stared down at it for a moment.

"No I could never…" Her words trailed off as she swallowed down her memories.

"You never know." He was looking at her intensely now, as if he was trying to scry her mind. She crossed her arms in front of her defensively, desperate to keep her secrets to herself.

"I know. I tried once before and I failed." Images of Vegeta kneeling before her rose up in her mind and she couldn't push away the certainty that she would have never pulled the trigger.

"But was it your life on the line?" Lt. Ricker's question invaded her thoughts as Bulma relieved that fateful day in her lab. She responded in a distant voice as she shook the image from her mind.

"Mine and my entire world's." At those words, Bulma felt her heart break at the truth of it. She was too weak to save her own world, what was she doing down her trying to offer comfort to these strangers.

"Gee's you people are boring. You should go back to talking about the hole. What a bloody fucking nightmare that is."

The whole world seemed to stop and time ebbed by in a slow drip. For a moment they stared across from each, denial ripping through them at whirlwind velocity. Slowly they turned to stare at a red-horned head that leered at them from behind some debris. The fearsome man leaned nonchalantly over a steal beam, his arms dangling down in front of him as he licked his lips. The last rational thought that Bulma had was that is what Satan must look like.

Suddenly the world exploded into a montage of sound, images and worse of all, sensations that would forever haunt the blue haired beauty in her sleep. While she stared at the red skinned devil in shocked awe she heard an electrical snap followed by a sharp pop. Suddenly she was drenched in hot liquid that coated most of the left side of her face and torso.

In a surreal daze she looked down at herself to see a dark ooze with small chunks staining her clothing, she turned her head with what seemed like mind numbing slowness to look at Lt. Ricker. He was still perched on his seat to her left, clutching his gun in his hand, but he was headless with no pumpkin in sight.

Irrationally, Bulma's mind could only process the fact that this scene was all wrong. The strong hero type wasn't supposed to die. He surely wasn't supposed to lose his head before he even had a chance to get up and defend them. This could not be happening. Who would be their hero now?

Still caught in the timeless bubble she sat shock still as his body fell forward, landing squarely on top of her. His weight knocked the breath out of her and jogged her out of her paralysis. She began to scream in terror as she struggled under his dead weight, trying desperately not to drown on the blood that was spurting out of his neck and onto her face.

She heard the screams of her companions in the distance and she realized with dawning horror that they were dying. They all were. Darkness rushed forward to claim her and suddenly only her voice was heard in the night, shattering the unnatural silence that descended. Eventually even that faded, leaving her alone in the cold embrace of unconsciousness.

A few hours later Bulma awoke to the sound of stifled whimpers coming from behind her. She was aware that she was on her knees, her hands tied behind her around a cold, steel pole that ran uncomfortably down her back. She was slumped forward, her weight pulling painfully on her wrists. Her hair was undone, hanging around her in a blue shroud that protected her from the outside world.

She could feel someone behind her shift and the touch of warm hands as they shuddered in fear. By the sounds of the whimpers she was able to guess that Aleah was tied in similar fashion, her back to Bulma's.

In a distance Bulma could hear a crackling of a large bon fire and she could feel its heat on her skin like the breath of a sulfurous beast. Male voices rose up in the night, joking and jovial as they moved around the fire. Slowly, so not to gain their attention she lifted her head to peer through the mass of her blue hair. She watched in silence as they moved in and out of the dancing light cast by the roaring fire, their attention completely riveted on building up the blaze to greater heights.

The red-skinned man, whom she had silently dubbed as Satan, hefted another log onto his shoulder and turned towards the fire with the intention of throwing it in. With an ill concealed gasp, Bulma watched as an arm dropped down from what she thought was a piece of wood and horror pierced her brain like an invading enemy. They weren't feeding a fire, they were heaping bodies onto a pyre.

Satan pitched the man onto the pile of burning bodies. A headless man. The blaze snapped and hissed, consuming its treat with monstrous pleasure. Bulma choked back the bile that was simmering at the back of her throat, realizing now that the sulfurous breath she had felt on her check was really the rancid smell of burning flesh.

A sickly looking creature with yellowish skin with green blotches kicked out an area for the men to rest for the night. He had dragged up a twisted metal beam for them to sit on and he appeared to be unpacking a crate that he had pillaged from a nearby establishment. He pulled large bluish bottles from the box and Bulma instantly recognized what was probably alcohol.

A third person joined the party and Bulma was momentarily startled when she realized it was a female. An attractive one at that. She had long violet colored hair that was pulled back into a tail that hung nearly to her waist. Her ivory skin was unblemished and smooth. She would be a great beauty if it wasn't for the malice that sparkled in her red tinged eyes.

Each of the soldiers grabbed a bottle and upended them into their waiting stomachs while they began to swap tales of their day's adventure. Bulma sighed with relief that they seemed to be settling down for the night while ignoring her and Aleah. Bulma instantly dismissed them as she began to concentrate on undoing the rope that tied them to the post.

"Psst. Aleah, can you reach the knots?" She asked in a hushed whisper while casting a sly glance at the group. The only response she received was more whimpers. Bulma tried a few more times before giving up. The girl had retreated and wasn't going to be helping her any time soon.

Bulma's nimble fingers worked at the knots, but no matter how much she twisted and turned she just couldn't get a good grip on them. She was concentrating so hard on her task that she completely blocked out the soldier's conversation, but she was jostled to awareness when a voice boomed out a few feet in front of her. She instantly stilled her ministrations, hoping that he hadn't noticed her attempted escape. She let her body hang limp, trying to appear as harmless as possible.

"I don't know. This one appears a little stringy." The disgruntled statement was followed by a sharp pinch on Bulma's arm. She almost yelped in pain but she remained silent. "There's hardly any meat on her bones."

Bulma slit her eyes, looking forward towards the other two by the fire. Satan and the woman lounged against the beam, watching with apparent interest. That meant that it was the yellow thing that was pinching her like she was a side of beef. The creature that she had named Pestilence moved away from her and up to Aleah. The woman's whimpers grew more pronounced and Bulma felt fear whip through her.

"Now this one has some promise. I say we throw the other one on the fire and take this one."

Bulma couldn't stop the shiver of overwhelming fear that shook her entire frame. There was nothing she dreaded more than being burned alive. To feel her skin crack and bubble under the intense heat while she screamed in agony was definitely something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

Bulma watched wide eyed as Satan looked right at her, his black gaze glinting evilly. A slow grin stretched on his repugnant lips and suddenly Bulma wanted to die. She would do anything to avoid letting that creature get its vile hands on her.

"Untie the fat one, but leave the other. She'll make a tasty treat for later." Satan's gravely tones slithered over her like an obscene caress.

The beautiful woman rolled her eyes while sweeping her fingers through her long hair, her vanity clear for all to see.

"Why do you persist in thinking like a disgusting male?" She continued to preen, her attention more on her violet tresses than on the conversation at hand.

"Because I am one and I would be more than happy to show you how much of a male I am." Satan leered in Vanity's direction while cupping his genitals, but she merely snorted over her shoulder at him and turned away.

"Both of you are disgusting. All you think about is breeding." Pestilence was working furiously behind Bulma, undoing Aleah's ropes.

"You're just mad because you will never know the joys of a good fuck. All you do is come in behind your female and fertilize her eggs after she has laid them. How unsatisfying." Satan was back to grinning in Bulma's direction and she had to force down the bolts of terror that threatened to wrack her body.

"Emergi mating rituals are exquisite in their beauty and intricacy. You just don't have the brainpower to appreciate them properly." The creature beside her hissed in an offended tone, but Satan just shrugged at him in dismissal.

"Whatever. Hurry up and get it over here."

Pestilence hauled Aleah to her feet and pulled her towards the group. Their backs were turned towards her and she couldn't make out their faces but she could see Satan and Vanity clear enough.

Vanity finally gave the group her undivided attention and Bulma felt a flutter of unease as she watched the woman lick her lips hungrily. Satan sat up as well and Bulma felt her flutter of unease grow into a full fledge swell of terror.

"I want a thigh." The woman claimed with determination, her body tense with the expectation of a fight.

"There is enough for everyone, but I insist on a breast." Satan staked his own claim.

"I don't care as long as I get some innards. You guys always bruise them with your clumsy paws." Pestilence whined.

Bulma stomach rolled and the blooded rushed from her face. She felt like she was hearing their conversation through a tunnel. It was so unreal, so unfathomable. They were talking about eating Aleah, like she was an animal for slaughter.

All at once Aleah understood their meaning and the silent woman tipped her head back, unleashing a scream of pure, unadulterated terror. This seemed to be the signal that they were waiting for because the rabid beasts leapt on her in unison, uncaring of her fear.

Bulma made no effort to hide herself, her wide blue eyes watching every horror filled minute. Her own screams joined Aleah's, mingling in the night sky. No matter how loud they screamed they couldn't block out the sound of rending flesh and crunching bone.

Vanity wrapped her small pale hands around Aleah's thigh, pulling with inhuman strength. The limb came free with a pop and a wet snap as blood spurted from the torn limb. She scuttled back with her prize, licking her lips with glee, her eyes dancing with pleasure. The limb, though severed, still kicked in protest and Vanity hugged it close to her chest as she bared her teeth to take a bite.

Aleah dropped to the ground, shock radiating out from her every pore. She fought to stand, the realization that she no longer had a leg seemingly absent. Satan lunged forward, pinning her to the ground with his weight. He tore Aleah's top from her torso, reaching out to paw her breasts obscenely before burying his unnaturally sharp teeth in her plumb flesh. Aleah shrieked and she tangled her fingers in his hair, yanking at his scalp frantically. Satan ignored her as he shook his head fiercely like a dog worrying a bone. Finally, her flesh came free in a large meaty chunk that he swallowed with glee.

Pestilence growled and hissed, trying to dislodge Satan from Aleah so he could claim his own prize. The horned man snarled over his shoulder and Bulma caught a glimpse of his blood stained teeth and the deadly madness that shone in his black eyes. He shifted his weight of the woman, crouching over her chest possessively while allowing Pestilence to kneel over her lower half. The green creature dug his long claws into Aleah's unprotected stomach, slicing through her flesh like warm butter. He pulled out great handfuls of her entrails, the bloody organs dripping from his hands like gory decorations as he inhaled their slightly rotten stench.

Aleah screamed far longer than Bulma thought possible and after her cries fell silent, Bulma continued her pleas to the heavens. She begged the gods in a wordless scream that it would stop, that this nightmare would be nothing more than a dream. She pleaded for a savior, cried for Goku, for Yamcha, but in the end her heart called out for Vegeta. Only a monster would do against other monsters.

As Bulma watched Aleah's body being torn apart by the reaching claws of the monsters all she could think of was the promise she had made the woman before leaving their den.

"You won't die. I won't let you." But Aleah was dead now. She had been eaten alive by the very devils that she feared. As the crunching subsided, Bulma's screams echoed long into the night.


	14. Dark Hero

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the lovely men from the show that prance around naked in my dreams.

Chapter Fourteen

Dark Hero

She had screamed for so long that eventually they had to force a piece of cloth between her teeth to gag her. She continued to shriek behind her gag, a raw, painful scream in the back of her throat that echoed with all the pain and fear that overflowed from her soul. Finally reason descended on her and she fell silent for fear that she would choke to death on the bile that threatened to rise.

When there was nothing left of Aleah, the monsters attacked the crate of alcohol like it was a four course meal. They upended endless bottles into the maws, joking and laughing well into the night. Bulma watched with dulled sense of horror as they reached into the flames to pull out blackened limbs to casually gnaw on, like an after dinner treat. They chewed on the flesh and cracked the bones to slurp out the marrow, while guzzling their wine in an obscene mockery of a feast, their shadows dancing like demons on parade.

Hours went by and the night seemed never ending to Bulma. Surely the sun would rise soon and put an end to this nightmare. The daylight would chase away the monsters and show her that it was all a bad dream. All evil things hated the light. Right?

Bulma was on her knees, worrying the cloth between her teeth, despair swamping her when she felt it. It was an awareness of something dark and terrible creeping in from the shadows of the night, making its way towards the light. A swell of anger hit her and she felt instantaneous relief. There was only one man she knew who could project that much rage, so much hate that it was tangible in the air. She glanced at the others, frankly surprised that they couldn't feel him in the dark, stalking them like the predator that he was, but then she had always been unnaturally aware of Vegeta.

Seconds later he appeared out of the darkness, taking one step into the light before pausing. His black eyes swept the camp, absorbing in all the details in one cold glance before his heavy gaze rested on her. She couldn't stop the joyous smile that lit up her countenance behind her gag at the sight of him, but at the slight shake of his head, she wiped it from her face.

There was a flurry of motion as the other soldiers became aware of Vegeta's presence and his attention was torn away from her and it settled commandingly on Satan.

"Prince Vegeta! What a surprise." The red skinned man covered his unease at seeing the Saiyan well, but even Bulma had seen his initial slip. Pestilence cast a nervous glance between his leader and the Prince while Vanity looked more than a little pleased to see him.

Vegeta grunted in response and Bulma noticed how Satan darted a quick glance at his scouter that lay discarded in a pile with the others. As they had settled in for the night they had taken them off, along with their outer breastplates, but they remained dressed in their boots and light under armor.

"Would you like a drink?" Satan held out his own bottle a jovial smile stretching his thin lips.

Instead of taking the bottle, Vegeta walked past him and plucked a fresh bottle from the crate before settling himself leisurely against the metal beam, right in front of the scouters. He moved with confidence and grace that instilled unease in the others and reminded Bulma of a lethal jungle cat. The two male purgers shifted uncomfortably at this subtle maneuver, but Vanity's smile only became slier.

"So I heard that Frieza is looking for you." Vegeta's eyes had drifted over to her once again, but at the man's words his gaze snapped back to his. Satan had seated himself once again, this time facing Vegeta. Pestilence had done the same, both of them unwilling to put their backs to the prince. They sat with an uneasy grace that would allow them to dart to their feet at a moments notice and defend themselves.

"What's it to you Gen-Seng?" Vegeta growled and Bulma couldn't stop the shiver of recognition that flowed through her. She couldn't believe how much she had missed his raspy voice and crude demeanor. However, she was willing to admit that at this moment she would have endured Master Roshi's petting if it meant getting out of here.

At his harsh tone the soldier tensed, but Gen-Seng kept his easy smile. "Nothing, just letting you know." Now that Bulma had a name to go along with the horned devil, she found that she didn't find him any less threatening. In fact, the sly way he was eyeballing Vegeta was making her quite nervous.

Vegeta snorted before responding, making no effort to be polite to his fellow soldiers who had welcomed him to their fire.

"Do you know where Frieza is now?" Vegeta questioned casually while popping open the bottle and taking a swig.

Gen-Seng shrugged while replying nonchalantly. "Somewhere in the Gamma quadrant. Treasure hunting I hear." Both Bulma and Vegeta stiffened at his reply. Namek was in the Gamma quadrant.

"Hunting for what?" Vegeta asked offhandedly, but his dark gaze sought hers out once again.

"Oh this, that and the other thing. An arm?" Vanity slid closer to Vegeta, the only one daring enough to come within a few feet of him. She held out a blackened limb and his gaze flickered down to the offering before glancing back up at Bulma. At his gaze she dropped her head to hide behind her hair, unable to watch him sink his teeth into the proffered meat.

Vegeta shook his head and knocked her hand away, telling himself that he had eaten well before descending onto the planet. He merely wasn't hungry. He didn't care about the delicate sensibilities of the woman he had come to fetch.

He felt the anger boil up inside of him again at the thought. His fury had known no bounds when he had discovered that she had jumped ship. Beyond pissed to be exact. That anger only multiplied when he realized that she had locked the controls so he couldn't turn the ship around right away.

By the time he had gained control of the navigation, his rage had simmered down into bubbling resentment that festered in the center of his chest. He had been determined to leave her to her fate. Let her figure out on her own how hard the universe can be. She thought she could take her weak body down to some planet and barter her way home with her good looks and questionable intelligence. Let her see how tough life really was. Maybe on the way back from Namek he would take the time to see if she had been sold into slavery. He would pay good creds to laugh in her face as she lay in some squalid brothel in a filthy bed, her body well used and discarded like refuse. Then she would see how stupid she had been.

He would have left her to her fate too. He would have, he swore to the Gods that he would have, but then he had heard some troubling news. He had been scanning the receiver stations, looking for clues to Frieza's whereabouts when he had heard the chatter on the secured purge channel. A three man team had been sent to purge the same planet Bulma had thought to escape to. Stupid bitch. It seemed to him that she couldn't do anything right, including running away.

Even now as he stood in front of the warm fire, staring down the man who could very well sic the Imperial Army on him, he still couldn't say why he turned around. He should have been thankful that someone else would take care of the job of killing off the useless woman so he wouldn't have to waste his time. Why should he care if she didn't live through the night? It wasn't his problem. He had a mission to get to and a wish in need of granting. He certainly didn't have time to turn around and fetch the obnoxious female.

But he was here and he was starting to realize something. He fucking hated women, especially this one. She always ended up making him do things that he normally would never do, the Kami-damned witch. He was completely out of character when he was around her and that was entirely too dangerous.

"Well maybe we should tell someone that you aren't lost Prince Vegeta. After all everyone has been so worried about you." Gen-Seng's softly threatening words broke Vegeta's concentration and his black eyes turned hellish.

"The Prince of All Saiyan's doesn't get lost you pansy fuck. I was merely detained. I'm on my way to see Frieza now." Vegeta sneered at the horned man and Bulma could see a flicker of fear in Gen-Seng's eyes.

"I think what he meant was that we should announce your arrival." Pestilence spoke up, his voice a quiver of uncertainty.

"I know what he meant, Nol. There is no need to _announce_ my presence." Vegeta spat. "I have a surprise for Frieza and I will be severally displeased if someone ruins it."

The threat hung heavy in the air and there was no mistaking it. Vegeta didn't want his presence known to Frieza and anyone who defied him would find themselves six feet under in a hurry. Vegeta eyed Gen-Seng and Nol with equal intensity, hoping that he was intimidating enough to make them think twice about going for their scouters while he was on the planet's surface.

His only hope was to get off the planet and into space where he could blast them to dust before they went blabbing on their scouters to anyone who would listen. He knew that they were afraid of him. He was after all one of the most powerful warriors in Frieza's army, but what they didn't know was that he wasn't quite up to par. Bulma's little force field had done a number on him and he was still feeling the effects. Vegeta was faced with the uncomfortable uncertainty that if he was forced into a fight, he just might lose.

"Yes well. Of course no one wants to ruin your little surprise, Prince Vegeta. Why don't we turn our attention to something much more pleasurable? More wine?" Vanity slithered closer to the prince and Bulma felt a sharp spike of something she couldn't define. If it was Yamcha sitting there she would be tempted to say she was feeling jealousy, but surely that couldn't be right.

The woman let her hand trail up Vegeta's arm and he turned his head to look at her. His dark eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a familiar sneer. "I'm not interested in your charms this evening Tamin." He shrugged her off and took another swallow from his bottle.

Bulma frowned when she realized that in the past more than likely the two had been lovers. For some reason it made Bulma unreasonably angry to think that he would sniff around such a disgusting little bitch.

"And what pray tell are you interested in?" Tamin asked with a sniff of disdain.

Vegeta eyes found their way to Bulma's blue ones. His gaze lingered long enough to attract the attention of the other soldiers. Tamin's red-tinted gaze narrowed as they focused on her and Gen-Seng's own leer grew wider.

"Ah yes. I was saving her for later, but I would be more than happy to share." Gen-Seng rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he stood up from his seat. At his movement Vegeta instantly straightened his lax stance, pinning Gen-Seng with a silent glare.

"I don't share." Vegeta gritted out the words, his entire body poised for battle.

Gen-Seng took a small step back, his hands upraised. "Of course not. I was merely implying that you should take your fill and I will be more than happy to take what's left."

Nol snorted at his supplicating comment. "Shit, he would be happy just watching."

Gen-Seng shot his companion a deadly glare, but Vegeta's growl dragged his attention back to the prince.

"You won't be watching either you sick fuck." Gen-Seng stiffened at the insult and his lips twisted like he wanted to say something equally crude back to the prince. Vegeta didn't want to push the team leader too far, but he needed to take Bulma out of their sight.

"We will go over there. You can wait until I am done." Vegeta nodded his head towards a darkened alley that was barely visible beyond the dancing firelight. Vegeta could tell that Gen-Seng wanted to protest but he gave him no choice when he turned on his heel and stalked over to Bulma.

She kept her head down when he approached, not wanting to give away her excitement at their pending escape. He reached behind her, snapping her bonds easily and lifted her to her feet with a strong grip on her arm. He strode passed the others, glaring hard at them, letting them know not to disturb them. He gave one last snide glance at the scouters, silently reminding them of his earlier threat. Vegeta knew that they wouldn't be able to leave immediately, Gen-Seng would more than likely be keeping track of their ki, but if they lingered long enough perhaps the soldiers would lose interest in what was happening beyond their line of sight.

Bulma reached up and undid her gag, using the cloth to wipe the dried blood from her face. She did her best to look dejected and broken as she walked off with Vegeta, which really wasn't all that hard.

Vegeta led her into the darkness, away from the ring of firelight. For the first time she actually felt at ease when walking into the dark instead of the tense expectation in the center of her shoulder blades. Being surrounded by shadows had always awakened the instinctual animal inside of her that feared what she couldn't see.

Worse yet, she was strolling into the dark with a murderer, but she only felt overwhelming relief. Vegeta may be the most dangerous man she ever met, but she was certain that he wouldn't eat her. Wasn't she?

He pushed her roughly against the crumbling brick wall and she easily acquiesced to his will. At this point if he told her to walk barefoot over hot coals, she would do so. After all he was her savior, her unholy, hell-sent savior, but savior just the same.

He braced his hand by her head, leaning his weight forward, pinning her against the wall. She ached to run as far away from this nightmare as she could, but her trust in Vegeta held her. He would know what to do. He would know how to save them.

She could feel the anger radiating off him, felt it before he even entered the camp. Although she feared him, her terror of the monsters that ringed the burning pyre of corpses was greater. She reached out, twisting her fingers in the material of his shirt above his heart. Normally, she dreaded being near such a lethal predator, but now she loathed to let him out of her grasp.

He leaned in closer, his black eyes flickering down to take in the death grip she had on his shirt before locking his gaze with hers. He could see the watery evidence of her terrifying trauma in her deep blue eyes that were near overflowing. If he looked close enough he could imagine seeing the reflection of the horrors she must have witnessed in the last few hours.

His cold lips twisted into a wry smile at the hope he saw in her upturned features. The little rabbit had run hard and fast to escape her wolf, but in the end she clung to him as though he was her safe harbor in a raging tempest. How quickly she changed her tune at the first hint of danger.

He slanted a brow towards the drunken soldiers who warmed themselves before their gruesome fire, feeding on the blackened flesh of their victims. Perhaps she had good reason to, he silently admitted to himself. He was sure that his little innocent had never seen such atrocities. That in itself underscored the vast, almost uncrossable chasm that separated them.

The dark demon inside of him laughed uproariously at the thought of such a pure angel experiencing even a small portion of his every day life, but the man before her was angry at the image. Unexplainably so. He seemed to have a lot of unexplainable urges and emotions when it came to her. Namely, him turning around to fetch her while he should be on his way to Namek. He narrowed his eyes, glaring down at her.

"You ran away from me." He whispered cruelly in her ear, his voice dripping with deadly menace. There was no mistaking the underlying current that flowed between them. What was she doing here? What was she thinking? How _dare_ she run from him?

"I…" She looked away, glancing at the ring of fire. Her cheeks grew paler and her hand tightened in his shirt. She licked her dry lips and began again, never taking her eyes off the other men. "I was afraid." She paused, her breath coming in a slight panicked pant, before continuing. "I was afraid of you." Her voice was the softest of whispers and he had to strain to hear her. His heart did a funny little flip at her words and he had to moisten his own suddenly dry lips.

"Was? Not anymore?" Only his impressive self mastery prevented his voice from cracking with strain. The thought of her not fearing him anymore struck him deeply, rousing some forgotten, unnamed emotion inside of him.

"I'm terrified of you." Vegeta's stomach dropped at her words and he felt a wave a disappointment that was completely unexpected. "But…I'm afraid to be alone. To be lost and alone, without you." She shook her head slowly, her mouth pursing in a soft moue of distress. Her haunted eyes never left the macabre feast that was illuminated in the firelight. Vegeta frowned and he slipped two fingers under chin, dragging her eyes away and tipping her face up to his.

"And what has brought about this abrupt change of heart?" He asked gruffly, his face partially concealed in shadow.

Memories of what she had seen only hours before clamored insistently in her head and they were shockingly visible in her clear blue eyes. Unconsciously, she urged him closer, using him as a blanket to pull up over her head to protect her from the monsters under the bed. She felt safe under his shadow. She trusted her demon in the dark far more than the men in the light.

The visions in her mind were a whirlwind of blood and agony, of tearing claws and ripping teeth. She clenched her eyes shut and two silent tears streamed down her pallid face. Vegeta had to resist the urge to bend down and lick them from her cheeks and berating himself for the thought. Her throat worked as she tried desperately to form her terror into words, but she could only snatch one simple thought from the swirling torment of her mind.

"They ate her." Her body trembled as though wracked by a northerly wind and she leaned closer to his heart.

Vegeta couldn't stop the sneer that formed on his lips. This was what she was so terrified of. Why she was so horrified. Because a group of starving soldiers chose to feast on the dead instead of succumbing to the hunger that stalked them. He had thought that her fear had stemmed from the destruction around her, from the collapsing of buildings and the screaming of the innocent people. Or worse, her terror of those men using her body cruelly before killing her, but no, she chose to focus on this insignificant fact.

"Unlike you, some people aren't spoiled and pampered with gourmet meals three times a day. You would be surprised what you can do if you were hungry enough." He snarled, his heart chilling with the realization of her selfishness.

She looked up at him, her disgust and disbelief apparent. "I could never be so hungry that I would eat somebody." She stated slowly, clearly not understanding the concept of forced starvation.

His anger boiled inside of him and he thrust his face into hers snarling viciously. "You thought three days without food was tough, try three weeks."

"That's impossible. It's impossible to go weeks without food." Bulma's large eyes reflected in the moonlight and Vegeta felt his anger lessen towards her. It wasn't her fault that she had never felt hardship. She was a pampered princess who never had to contemplate the harsher side of life.

"No it's not. Trust me. It's not." Vegeta's words were cold and empty, ringing with dark truths that her fragile psyche was unwilling to accept. How could such tragedy exist in the universe? Such pain and suffering?

She leaned further into him, gaining strength from his warm, solid body. "This is your life." It wasn't a question, but a statement of realization. She wanted to cry until she had washed away his past in a torrent of tears. He needed to have someone cry for him. He was alone in the universe. No family, no world, no lover. Nothing. Vegeta remained silent and the only thing that could be heard was the popping of the fire in the distance and the rowdy conversation of the soldiers.

"Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop her self. She almost cringed away, but instead she tightened her grip on his shirt, determined to stay near him. She didn't expect him to answer so she was surprised when she heard his velvety voice slide over her.

"Because sometimes…because I have too." His voice was stilted and for a moment it sounded almost uncertain, but then his arrogance came back full force. "There is no choice. Frieza starves us to keep us weak and malleable. Even so, we are still stronger than most of you weaklings."

Bulma did not retreat like he expected her too, but instead she rested her other hand gently at his side. Not drawing away, but pulling him closer. She nuzzled his neck, his male scent encircling her, holding her close, enticing her.

Frieza, there was that name again. He must be the tyrant that he spoke of so long ago. The snake. Belatedly Bulma remembered the story of The Hole on Frieza's ship and she shuddered with pity and sorrow. Had Vegeta ever been subject to such torture? She burned to ask questions, but self preservation stilled her tongue. Vegeta was volatile and she sensed that this subject would send him over the edge.

"But they ate her alive." She whispered, her fingers dug into his side and dragged at his shirt front. "They just tore her apart like ravenous dogs and ate her." She whispered brokenly. "How could they do such a thing?" He finally succumbed to her beckoning and he leaned his forearm flat against the wall, shortening the gap between them by several inches.

She rested her head back against his hand that was still fisted on the wall. At the brush of her silken hair he had to resist the urge to open his tight fist and run his fingers through the strands. He had never felt something as soft as her. Her hair, her skin, her entire body.

Reclining like this was almost like he was embracing her in the curve of his arm and Bulma sighed with contentment. Vegeta couldn't stop his stomach from clenching both from her gentle exhale of breath and her words.

He had heard of such practices, even witnessed it once, but never had he participated. Some warriors claimed to feel an exhilarating rush of excitement when they tore their teeth into still living flesh and hot pumping blood.

Many times Vegeta had eaten he flesh of his enemies, but only after they were long dead and properly cooked. His sleep was disturbed enough by the screams of the dead and dying to risk adding the screams of his dinner along with it.

This was why she was so frightened. He couldn't blame her for that. Even he had felt his stomach threaten to revolt at the sight. He could only imagine how his innocent angel would have reacted.

"You shouldn't run away from me. The universe is a dangerous place." She nodded in acceptance, resting her forehead against his chest. It struck him that this was the first time in his life that he had been this close to someone without being on guard with them. Even with the various whores he had laid with over the years, he had half expected them to plunge a dagger into his back.

Once when he was young, Frieza had sent him a concubine who was seeping from her very pores with poison, having been fed as a babe the most deadly of venoms. If his Saiyan senses weren't so keen, he would have never smelled her corruption and he could have died or worse so he found. It seemed that Frieza had a bet on whether he would die or if "it" would rot off instead.

He lowered his nose to the crown of her head, inhaling deeply. He smelled no taint of corruption on her, only the scent of lost innocence and fear dried on her skin.

He brushed his lips over her hair, reveling at its silkiness. She wound her hand under his arm and laid her palm flat in the valley between his shoulder blades. He tensed expecting to feel the shrieking of his senses to warn him of danger but there was nothing but calm acceptance of her touch.

"Vegeta. Have you ever…" She paused and he fought to inhale air into his shrinking lungs. "Have you ever eaten someone?"

Vegeta turned his head, gazing out to watch the soldiers. He felt nervous energy building inside of him and he wanted to be away from this place, but Gen-Seng was still casting sly glances into the shadows where they stood. He took her hand, unclenching it from his shirt, his fingers dangerously gentle. With the loss of the barrier that separated them, she leaned fully into his chest, resting her head above his heart and her arm tightened around his waist.

His eyes momentarily drifted shut at her trusting stance and he felt a rough fist seize his heart. He finally gave into his body's urges and shifted his weight so he leaned them into the wall, his weight nestling fully against her. He opened his hand and dared to let his fingers brush the strands of her hair.

He rubbed his callused thumb of his other hand across the back of her knuckles, enjoying the combination of soft skin, silken hair and her warm body.

"I have never eaten someone while they were still alive." He didn't know why he sought to comfort her. To assure her that he wasn't a complete monster, but he was driven to do so. His body tensed slightly, sure that she would still pull away at his offhanded confession that he had in the past eaten the flesh of his enemies. Although, they were already dead, he knew that it would still be repugnant to her, an insult to her innocence.

Instead, her tongue darted out tentatively, swathing a path of heat across his neck, tasting the salty maleness of him, craving it. His body rocked slightly and he could barely suppress his shock at her forwardness. He had expected rejection not an invitation.

He brought her delicate hand to his lips and his strong teeth scraped over her knuckles, nipping gently at her. Instead of embedding fear in her heart, a sensation of anticipation danced down her arm causing her breath to catch.

"Vegeta, promise me something." Her soft breath feathered over his skin, setting him on fire with wanting. Her voice was a seduction, a plea to grant her fondest wishes. Unable to reply, he grunted subtly, giving her permission to continue.

"Promise me that you won't hurt me." Already Bulma had been through so much and they had barely begun their journey to Namek. She had been sold, nearly raped and now she had witnessed first hand the horror of a purge. She did not think she would be able to survive the onslaught of the constant fear that Vegeta would eventually murder her. She didn't want to continue on the way that they had in the past. She needed some measure of reassurance. She wanted to trust Vegeta. She wanted to give herself to him for safekeeping, but she dared not too.

Vegeta felt his stomach drop out from beneath him. He knew exactly what she wanted. A promise from him not to kill her when he was through with her. To let her live without fearing him. He was shocked that she would trust any words that he would utter to her. Didn't she know that he could easily lie to her to lull her into a false sense of security? Did she so desperately want to trust him that she was willing to believe anything? Therein lay his quandary. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe that he could be honest.

The silence dragged on between them. As he mulled over her words, almost absently his tongue slithered in between her fingers to tickle the web of her hand. Tingles of sexual awareness danced up Bulma's arm causing her to sigh with unvoiced want. Vegeta's eyes glittered in the firelight as he watched the other men slowly forget about them with every swallow they took from their bottles.

"Why would I do that?" His voice dripped with cruelty but she could hear an undertone of curiosity. He truly didn't understand why he should give up his element of power by promising her such a thing. Whether it is a lie or the truth. It would be a lie, wouldn't it?

"I don't want to be afraid of you." If he would just whisper to her the words, she would believe him. She needed desperately to trust in him. She couldn't finish the journey, knowing that only her death was waiting for her in the end. Even if he did kill her, at least she could enjoy the last couple months without that threat hanging over her head.

"You should be afraid of me. By your very words, I am a dangerous man." His voice dropped an octave, his tones washing over her in a wave of velvety heat.

"I know you are a dangerous man. I just don't want you to be a danger to me." After her terror filled night on this nightmare planet, Bulma was forced to accept certain truths. Vegeta was a monster, created by a demon to wreck havoc on the masses. There was no sugar coating it or sidestepping it. He really was what he was and she had no choice but to accept it. She just wanted some measure of assurance that he would try to be at least half way decent when dealing with her. She knew he had it in him. He just needed a chance to display it. If someone had to take the risk and have faith in him, it might as well be her.

Vegeta turned her hand over, marveling at how soft and small it was. He pressed a gentle kiss to her palm before he pulled away from her to stare down into her blue eyes. He couldn't lie to her, yet he couldn't give her what she wanted either. His innocent one was just going to have to learn that she could only rely on herself and no one else.

"Well, one can always hope." He encircled her small wrist with his larger hand and yanked her away from the wall. He could see the pain he caused her flutter across her open features and he had to harden himself against her. He could not allow her weakness to become his.

"Time to go now, Bitchess." And with that he dragged her off into the darkness.


	15. The Redemptions

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ, if I did I would have gagged Goku and kept in my basement while I let Vegeta run amuck. That is if I left him with enough energy to do so.

Many, many wonderful thanks to LisaB for editing for me. I'm thrilled to have her. Hasn't she done a wonderful job?

Chapter Fifteen

The Redemptions

"Going somewhere Prince Vegeta?" Gen-Seng's voice drifted out of the darkness, winding sinuously around Bulma and Vegeta, binding them to the spot.

Vegeta spun around to face the newest threat to their safety. His thick fingers encircled Bulma's thin wrist as he yanked her behind him protectively. He dropped down into a defensive crouch, his warning growl echoing in the night.

Satan stepped out of the shadows, his thin lips stretched into a sardonic smile. Pestilence and Vanity flanked him and Bulma noticed with alarm that all three were wearing their scouters. The pair split away from Satan, circling around them in opposite directions while leaving Gen-Seng to distract Vegeta.

The purge leader tapped the lens of his scouter with one black nailed finger while clucking disappointedly at Vegeta.

"There seems to be something wrong with our communicators. We can't get a signal."

Vegeta snorted in derision knowing perfectly well why they couldn't call out. Although he had used intimidation earlier to keep them away from their scouters, the real reason he didn't want them to pick up the communicators was because he had programmed the onboard computer to emit a jamming signal before leaving the ship. However, it was only temporary and eventually they would figure that out.

"I can't help it if you are a technological idiot, Gen-Seng." The leader's red skin became even darker from the insult and his black lips peeled back from his fangs.

"You still haven't answered the question, Prince." Satan spat Vegeta's title like it was a curse.

Bulma edged closer to Vegeta's protective shadow barely resisting the urge to press her body up against his back. From the corner of her eye she saw Vanity sneer in her direction.

"Maybe he doesn't want to share the female with you, Gen-Seng. The prince is greedy and Saiyan appetites are legendary." Nol's forked tongue darted out to taste the air.

Gen-Seng's eyes narrowed as he looked speculatively at Vegeta's wide body that was completely shielding the blue haired beauty.

"Is that it, Vegeta? Are you taking her back to your ship for a good and proper fuck before you kill her?" Satan shifted to the side, and Vegeta's arm shot out, curling back to guide Bulma as he moved to match his enemy's stance.

Vanity's eyes narrowed as she watched the display, her upper lip curling back to revel perfectly white teeth.

"No. Something is different. He's different."

Satan's cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy, and Pestilence's second set of eyelids blinked.

"Different?" both males echoed as if they had never heard of the word. Vegeta growled and he shot a death-filled glare at Vanity.

"Yah. Look how's he's acting, how he behaved back at camp," Tamin confirmed, her beautiful features darkening in confusion.

"Well, Prince Vegeta has never been sociable. Have you?" Gen-Seng joked, but there was a slightly uneasy air to him.

"But have you ever seen him turn down food?" she whispered and all of them thought back to how Vegeta had rejected the blackened limb that Tamin had offered while they sat in front of the fire.

"I wasn't hungry," Vegeta shot back. His shoulders were tense as he listened to them discuss his actions like he wasn't even there.

Nol's eyes were the first to widen with realization, and he quickly stepped back from the prince like he was a carrier of a deadly disease. Gen-Seng's and Tamin's eyes shot to the yellowish-green man, silently questioning him.

"He's infected," Nol gasped and his two companions instantly darted startled looks towards Vegeta. They too stepped away from the prince, eyeing him in horrified awe.

Vegeta bristled and his entire body seemed to double in size as his wrath exploded. His tail lashed out angrily, barely missing Bulma's thigh.

"I am not!" he bellowed in his defense, his hands fisted at his sides.

Bulma jumped at his sudden outburst, her scared eyes jumping back and forth between the combatants, utterly confused as to what they were talking about. As Vegeta's "doctor" up until now, she could say with a great deal of conviction that he was the healthiest male she had ever met, next to Goku. He definitely wasn't infected with anything.

"Is it true Prince Vegeta?" Gen-Seng's tone was pleading, his black eyes wide with disbelief. To be infected was worse than death, it was an unforgivable disgrace. Vanity was stunned into silence, and Bulma watched as the woman wiped the back of her hand across her mouth as if she was trying to clean a foul taste away.

"No, it is not. I am the Prince of All Saiyan's. I would never allow myself to indulge in such a weakness," Vegeta spat with increasing venom. Bulma felt the tension in his body as well as his overwhelming need to suddenly convince his enemies that he was healthy.

The squad looked at him unconvinced, the tangible silence broken by Vanity's whispered despair.

"The Redemptions."

All three men recoiled at her words, and the furrows in Bulma's brow deepened. What the hell were they talking about?

Suddenly Satan broke out into a choked laughter that put Bulma on edge. "Did you find God while you were on your little hiatus, Prince Vegeta?"

"Shut the fuck up, Gen-Seng. You don't know what you are talking about," Vegeta growled, his dark eyes glittering with the promise of painful punishments.

Satan ignored him as he continued to taunt his old battle comrade. "Did the Big Bad finally find his redemption in the form of an Almighty Being? Are you saved now, Vegeta?"

"Remember Dallas?" Nol broke in, not to be out done by Satan. "He found God. A deity in the Fect Quadrant. What was that religion called again? Pactify, patrotism…"

"Pacifism," Tamin supplied, her wide eyes still watching Vegeta with the intensity of a wounded cat.

"Ah yes, I remember now. He wouldn't raise a hand in violence. He refused to enter into combat, and he even went so far as not to defend himself. All he would do was sit on his little mat and pray." Nol clucked to himself as he recalled the distant memory.

Satan narrowed his black eyes at Vegeta. "Yah, that was well and good until Frieza threw him into the slave pens. They tore him apart limb from limb, and he didn't even raise a fist to stop them. Pathetic."

"What the fuck is your point, assholes? I already told you, I'm not infected. I am going to have no problem putting my fist through your idiotic faces."

"The point, Prince Vegeta, is if you have started praying. Do you suddenly think you have a soul worth saving?"

Vegeta slashed Satan a look of pure contempt, his lip curling away from his fangs.

"What utter bullshit. I have murdered billions, destroyed worlds and conquered galaxies. I have no soul." The last was said with such darkness that Bulma felt her heart breaking. How could he possibly think that he had no soul, but after such a confession, how _could_ he have one?

Vanity shook herself out of her self induced trance and she continued to circle around, trying stealthily to reach Bulma. Vegeta always aware, felt her movement more than saw it and instantly compensated. He maneuvered Bulma closer to a wall, placing her back to it while using his body to shield her from attack.

Vanity stopped in her tracks, her mouth popping open in awe. She blinked before finally finding her voice.

"No, not God. A woman."

At her words, Vegeta's swaying tail straightened out until it was stiff as a board. His whole body stilled as he gapped incredulously at Vanity. He looked like had just gotten punched in the gut by an unseen opponent, and for the first time in his life he was without words.

The men stared at Vegeta as if he had grown two heads. Gen-Seng leaned his body to the side trying to peer over the prince's shoulder to see if he had missed something. Did the blue-haired woman have dove's wings? What kind of creature could conquer one of the most feared warriors in the universe? Unable to see her, he spat his derision instead.

"Love---the most pathetic affliction of them all. There are only two ways to get the redemptions, either through faith or love. Both are meaningless, empty lies." He paused his eyes narrowing, directing his thoughts inward. His next words seemed to be aimed at himself, but everyone heard his condemnation.

"There is no God in the nine galaxies that will forgive you for your sins, and there is no woman who will forget them."

"Truly you are to be pitied," Nol drawled with mock sympathy.

"Let's put him out of his misery." Tamin's spiteful gaze centered on Bulma, her hate sharpening to a fine point of killing rage.

Tamin's words triggered a flurry of action that Bulma could barely follow. Vegeta sprinted forward unexpectedly, meeting Gen-Seng's oncoming rush with a shoulder to his gut. Vegeta's lower center of gravity allowed him to push the larger warrior back away from Bulma. As they passed Tamin, Vegeta's tailed whipped out, lashing itself around her wrist and dragged her with them as they crashed through an unstable brick wall.

Masonry exploded inward and the threesome disappeared into the dark underbelly of an abandoned building, leaving a wake of dust and falling debris. Nol instinctively started for the hole, leaving Bulma to hunch herself next the far wall that Vegeta had herded her against.

The reptilian man rested one foot on a pile of bricks peering into the darkness, his eyelids blinking rapidly. His body weight shifted forward as if he were going to join the battle, when suddenly he changed his mind. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, and Bulma felt her heart sink.

"Prince Vegeta thinks I will join the battle and defend my commander. He dragged Tamin with him because he knew she would opt to stay behind rather than go up against him. Unfortunately for you, Vegeta has overestimated my loyalty."

Pestilence's hissing tones slid over her, freezing her heart solid until it ceased to beat, and it fell into a hard lump into her stomach. Bulma's eyes darted to and fro, desperately seeking an escape route.

"You see, I know that even combined all three of us are no match for the Prince. That said, I think that it's my duty to report this situation back to Frieza."

Nol advanced slowly on her, the echo of the battle clamoring behind him. The building shook and for a moment Bulma prayed that the whole thing would just come tumbling down, crushing the reptile under a ton of bricks. Of course, the way her luck was going it would probably kill her as well.

To her left she spotted a rubble heap of twisted steel beams and broken concrete. Her weak eye sight was able to make out a bolt hole under the pile, small enough for her to wiggle under, but she didn't know how much room there was once she squeezed underneath.

"That sounds like a fabulous idea. Why don't you go report in and I will stay here to wait for the others?" Bulma flashed a glorious smile meant to confuse the soldier, and he blinked in response. As soon as he was distracted she dived to her left, hitting the dirt with at thud as she tried to slither under the steel without shredding her back on the razor sharp beam that was poised over her.

Pestilence darted after her, his elongated fingers wrapping around her ankle. "Oh no, you don't. I think you will make a nice snack on the way to the nearest star base. I so rarely get the time to eat my food slowly."

Bulma stomach did flip flops at his words, and she had to swallow her bile. She dug her nails into the earth beneath her, uncaring for the first time in her life about her manicure. She felt dirt lodging itself under her nail bed as he yanked hard on her ankle, twisting it painfully. She raked hollows in the ground as he dragged her back, inch by terrifying inch.

She flipped on her back, her fingers grapping for anything that could give her purchase. She kicked out with her other foot, trying to dislodge his strong fingers from her ankle. Her hand slipped against cold steel and she felt warm blood pour over her wrist, but she kept her grip, ignoring the hot burn of pain in her palm.

Her shirt rode up, baring her pale midriff, and Bulma shuddered when she saw Nol lick his lips. He inhaled deeply, nearly pulling her all the way from her bolt hole, her strength no match for his.

"You smell so delicious. I can't wait to taste you." His voice slithered in the darkness and Bulma couldn't stop the terrified scream that welled out of her throat.

Her panicked eyes searched for anything that could help her as her bloody fingertips slipped away from the metal beam she was gripping. He yanked her hard, pulling her body out of her hole and into the night. In one last desperate bid, she flipped back onto her stomach, reaching into the hole, grasping for anything. Her injured fingers wrapped around a shard of pointed steel and she dragged it close, hiding it under her body as she was hauled into a standing position.

She fell heavily against Pestilence's front and his arms wrapped around her waist, effectively trapping her. Her scream bubbled up again and this time an actual word formed.

"Vegeta!" she yelled with all her might, desperately calling for him to save her. She heard the crash of bodies hitting cement and muttered curses, but no savior appeared out of the darkness.

Pestilence grabbed her by the arm to spin her around so he could hoist her up over his shoulder. He didn't want to kill her; after all, he preferred his food alive and kicking.

The world seemed to fade into slow motion, and Bulma recognized the sensation as a response to panic and shock. He spun her around, his large eyes eager with excitement. He licked his lips, his mind already on the feast to come and not on the ridiculously fragile woman in his arms---a creature so weak that he didn't even have to raise his ki to wrestle with her.

Bulma stepped into the spin, turning around faster than Nol anticipated. His enormous eyes grew larger and his mouth sagged in surprise. With vindictive accuracy born from the need to survive, she plunged the sharpened steel into the man's eye, feeling a certain amount of sickening satisfaction at the squish that could be heard.

He dropped her like a hot rock, his hands instantly going to his face as he screeched in outraged agony. Instead of running, Bulma stood paralyzed as she watched his black blood run between his fingertips and down his face. He made no effort to remove the twisted shard from his eye, and all Bulma could do was stare. She shouldn't feel regret, but she did. She felt sick to her stomach.

His screams pierced the night and just as suddenly they stopped. His face was frozen in pain, his mouth wrenched open, but nothing came out, just resounding silence. He dropped to his knees and Bulma's eyes followed his descent, stepping awkwardly back as he fell forward into the dirt, a small trickle of blood sliding down the base of his skull.

Bulma's blue gaze darted back up, meeting hatred that radiated out of violet eyes. Tamin stood casually before Bulma, her clothes tattered and a trail of blood dribbling down her chin. Bulma glanced back at the hole into the building, looking for Vegeta, but she was to be disappointed.

She looked back at Tamin who smiled secretly at her. Inside Bulma could hear the sounds of battle and she couldn't stop the small snarl of annoyance that crept up her throat. For being one of the most feared warriors in the universe, Vegeta was certainly taking his time whipping ass and taking numbers. If he didn't get his butt in gear she was going to be worm food.

Tamin's eyes scraped down her body insinuatingly, and Bulma felt herself bristle. Vanity wasn't taking stock of her physical prowess in as much as she was checking out Bulma's feminine allure.

"I don't get it. You're nothing. You may have some unusual coloring, but you couldn't stand up to a spit storm, much less to the Prince in bed." Tamin's resentful features glared at Bulma.

"You misunderstand, I'm…" Bulma trailed off.

"You're what?" Tamin hissed and Bulma looked blankly at her. She had started to explain that she was Vegeta's…friend? Confidant? Captive? What exactly was she?

"Well, I'm certainly not his lover," Bulma spat, pushing away the image of their kiss out of her mind. "So there is no need to be so hostile. If you want him, then you can have him."

Bulma fought not to cringe at her words. Although she had no claim on Vegeta, she couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling of possessiveness she felt towards him. She especially didn't want this woman's hands on Vegeta.

Tamin stared at her a moment, her violet eyes silently assessing. "It's not fair you know." Vanity's voice was unnaturally soft and Bulma resisted the urge to step back. "Why would he choose you over me? What do you have that I don't have?"

"I---" Bulma started, uncertain of what to say.

Vanity ignored her, spreading her arms wide. "Look at me. I'm beautiful, I'm strong. I have proven time and again that I'm a clever warrior, and still he ignores me." Tamin advanced on her, and Bulma quickly retreated, despair pouring over her when her back hit the cold bricks of a wall. Tamin stalked up to her and grasped her by the shoulders.

"I would do anything for him. I would fight by his side and protect him," she spat into Bulma's face. Bulma's entire body was rigid with fear as she watched the whirlwind of emotions manifesting themselves inside of the beautiful warrior woman.

"Why won't he love me? Why won't anyone love me?" she screeched and Bulma's eyes widened in shock. Tamin's grip on her shoulders tightened, and her smaller body was hauled forward only to be slammed back into the wall. Bulma's breath huffed out of her and she groaned at the shock of pain that lanced through her from the infected bite on her back. Distantly, Bulma became aware that she was much sicker than she had realized. All the excitement of landing on this godforsaken planet had dulled the reality of her condition. Her wound would need medical attention very soon.

"It's not fair." Tamin released her, pacing away as she furrowed her fingers in her long hair.

She whirled back around to face Bulma, who was slumped against the wall, watching the woman as closely as she would a rabid dog.

"Do you know how bad he is?" she questioned subtly and Bulma swallowed. "Do you know that he's far worse than any of us?" She paced towards her and Bulma tried to press herself further into the unyielding bricks of the wall. "He doesn't deserve forgiveness. He doesn't deserve love."

"People can change," Bulma whispered. Tamin threw her head back and laughed the sound bouncing off the broken buildings around them.

She turned sharply away, pacing angry circles in front of Bulma. "How is that someone so bad, so evil gets to find love while I get nothing? Time and time again I'm tossed aside. I'm treated no better than a ship's whore."

She whipped around to face Bulma, prodding herself in the chest forcefully. "I deserve better than that. I deserve more. If Vegeta can find some little harlot to love him, why can't I find one male to do the same for me? He doesn't have to be perfect. Just…" Her voice trailed away and her eyes focused sadly on a patch of dirt at her feet.

Bulma felt her heart beating for this woman. And that was what she was. She was a cold, ruthless, monster, but she was also a woman. And like any other being in the universe, she just wanted to be loved. Bulma began to step forward to reach her hand out to the wild beast, when Tamin burst into a flurry of activity again.

"No normal male would ever want me. And do you know why?" Tamin pinned Bulma to the spot with her haunted eyes. Wordlessly Bulma shook her head, her wide eyes impossibly blue against the pallor of skin.

"Because no man wants to be mated to a woman who has killed innocent children," Tamin spat with raw pain and Bulma gulped, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Even the male soldiers under Frieza feel the same. They have done the exact same thing, but for a woman to do it is an abomination. Fuckers!" Tamin shouted the last word to the heavens before she spun away to begin her pacing.

"Not that it matters anyway," she muttered and Bulma waited expectantly. When the explanation didn't come, she couldn't resist asking. She was caught up in the woman's story, in her pain. She felt a newly forged connection between them that had nothing to do with shared experiences, but with shared emotions.

"Why is that, Tamin?" Bulma questioned, her voice calm and soothing.

Tamin slowly turned to face her. Her eyes were filled with so much sadness that Bulma had to physically grasp her chest to make sure that her own heart wasn't breaking.

"Because when I was twelve, Frieza had my reproductive organs carved out of my body. He does it to all of his female soldiers. It wouldn't do to be bogged down by pregnancy when you are trying to annihilate a world."

Bulma couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her and tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. Tamin dropped her head, staring at the ground. "I will never have a baby."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Tamin." Bulma reached out her hand to the sad woman, expecting her gesture to be reciprocated in some small way, but instead she found only fury. Tamin's head snapped up, and the sadness was wiped away by rage. Her violet eyes snapped and sparked, and her beautiful face was twisted into a snarl of hate.

"So you see, if I can't have love, if I can't have a family, then he can't either." Tamin reached out grasping Bulma by the shoulders and thrusting her against the wall so forcefully that her skull cracked on the bricks. She continued to pound her against the wall until it felt like every bone in Bulma's body was broken.

Over and over, Tamin screamed into her face, spittle flying onto her cheeks. "It's not fair!" she repeated madly. "Why should he be forgiven for everything that he has done? You can't be that pure, that loving. No one ever forgives us for being what we are!"

"Tamin."

The one world rumbled between them, splitting them apart. Tamin released her grip on Bulma, and she slid boneless to the ground. Bulma blinked from her place in the dirt. She could see Vegeta standing behind Tamin, his armor cracked and his face bloody. Darkness swirled just below her consciousness, and Bulma struggled to stay awake.

She watched as Tamin circled away, her features going from enraged to enticing in a blink of an eye.

"Prince Vegeta, I see that you were victorious, as expected," she purred and Vegeta regarded her stoically, turning effortlessly on his heel to follow her movements.

"How about we celebrate like we did in the old days?" She stepped forward, her body swaying seductively. Vegeta made no move as she advanced, and she smiled salaciously in response.

He allowed her to trail one hand up his chest, her fingers sliding around to curl into the hair at his nape. Bulma opened her mouth to protest, but she couldn't find the strength. The darkness sucked her down, and the urge to close her eyes was smothering her.

Tamin settled herself against Vegeta's chest, looking for all the world like she belonged there. Bulma saw the satisfaction and victory flash across her eyes a moment before her lips descended on Vegeta's. Bulma choked back her tears as she watched them kiss, absently noting how Vegeta's fingers curled around Tamin's throat in a loving caress.

Vegeta's tail unwound from his waist, reaching behind the lithe woman, pulling her closer. Bulma's cracked lips parted to call out Vegeta's name, to remind him that she was there. She didn't think she could stand it if he were to fuck another woman while she lay bleeding at his feet.

The night air was unsettlingly quiet after so much noise had filled it. Even the wind was still, only deafening silence penetrating the shadows. Bulma heard a loud crack echo in the dark, and it took her a moment before she realized what happened.

Tamin's head lolled unnaturally to the side, the light in her frenzied eyes fading to black. Vegeta still held her close, supporting her now lax weight against his chest. Bulma felt pain rip through her, and for a moment she thought she was dying.

Vegeta had killed his lover. No remorse, no mercy, just cold-blooded murder. Bulma choked down her sobs, finally allowing the darkness to claim her. She hoped that she never woke up. She prayed that she would never see the burning gaze of Vegeta's black eyes ever again. She slipped into her lonely slumber, the knowledge that someday she could end up just like Tamin, her only companion in the darkness.

Vegeta looked over at Bulma, seeing that she was unconscious. He dropped Tamin's body on the ground, his tail slowly unwinding from her hand that held a ki-enforced dagger that she had intending on plunging between his ribs---the same dagger she used to kill Nol with one stab to the back of the neck, sliding the steel between the vertebrae.

He felt no regret as he looked at her cooling body on the ground, only a whisper of satisfaction that he had released her from her pain. He turned on his heel, leaving the bodies of his fallen comrades to rot where they lay as he towered over Bulma.

He reached down to shake her awake, his hand brushing across her cheek. He frowned, pressing his palm to her forehead. She was blistering hot, her face red and flushed. He shook her arm, anger curling inside of him.

"Woman, wake up," he demanded, but she did not stir. She was already lost to the fevers of infection.


	16. Forgiveness

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ. I can't write a fight scene to save my life anyways.

Many rounds of thanks to my wonderful beta LisaB, who was quick to point out what was wrong with this chapter and wack me upside the head. Thanks so much. wink

Chapter Sixteen

Forgiveness

On the trip back to the ship, Bulma dipped in and out of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of being cradled against Vegeta's chest, and as much as she wanted to struggle away, she couldn't deny that just being in his arms eased her pain.

They entered her shadowy room, and in one smooth motion Vegeta laid her out on the bed, reaching for the ties of her clothing at the same time.

"Where are you hurt?" he growled as he dragged at her clothes roughly. Her weak hands tried to push him away, but he was unstoppable.

"My back," she whispered as she struggled to keep him from pulling her pants down her slender legs. His hands stilled on the buttons of her slacks and grasped her hips between his wide hands instead. He flipped her over onto her stomach, his strong fingers snapping the strays lacing her corset with ease.

He tore at the black leather, and Bulma hissed as it peeled away from the bite wound that was seeping with greenish puss. Vegeta's lips drew back from his fangs as he examined the ring of teeth marks that were surrounded by angry red streaks of infection.

"How did this happen?" Vegeta's first thought was that one of the soldiers down on the surface had tried to take a pre-dinner bite out of her, but he doubted they would have stopped at one.

"The trader," Bulma muttered, trying hard to remain awake as the darkness threatened to suffocate her again.

She heard Vegeta inhale sharply, and she felt his steel fingers wrap around her upper arm to flip her onto her back. She yelped in surprise, struggling to cover her exposed breasts as she looked up into Vegeta's furious features. Her plumb white flesh spilled over her arms and she was only successful in hiding her pink nipples, but Vegeta wasn't the least bit interested in her sudden state of undress.

"What?" he snarled. "You let an Arachnoid bite you?"

"I didn't _let_ him do anything," she countered, her blue eyes sparkling unnaturally with fever.

He slashed his hand in the air above her face as if her comment was inconsequential. His lips peeled back even further, and Bulma could see his ivory fangs glistening in the starlight that filtered into her room from the line of port holes. Vegeta hadn't bothered to turn on any lights, but he didn't seem to be suffering from poor eyesight in the least.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed.

Bulma blinked at him, for the first time in their unusual relationship she was truly confused.

"I didn't think you would care," she stuttered, watching him wide-eyed.

He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but then he stopped himself. He swiped his hand through his black mane, laying the hair back briefly before it sprang into place. He spun away, pausing, then made as if to turn back towards her, but he halted. He squared his shoulders and headed towards the door, his unreasonable anger tangible in the air.

"I don't," he spat as he strode from the room, the door sliding closed soundlessly in mockery of his violent fury.

Vegeta only made it two steps into the hall before stopping. His dark thoughts swirled around inside of him, churning below the skin and he struggled to make sense of them.

It was poison, but although deadly, Arachnoid bites were hardly ever fatal. The venom was slow moving and easily cured, but it had to be treated quickly, within forty-eight hours. He knew that there was a way to cure the poison after the first forty-eight hours of infection, but had never heard of it being done. Without the cure she would be dead within the week, her body rotting painfully around her until she begged for death. There was nothing that he could do about it.

Well, there was _one_ thing he could do.

She was as good as dead. There was no point in prolonging it. He should go back into her quarters right now and finish the job. He could dispose of her body in the refuse and dump it with the rest of the space trash. He no longer needed her now that he had control of the ship. She was just an entertainment that could no longer fulfill her obligation.

Something animalistic seethed inside of him, primal in its very essence. He felt raging disappointment spill over into his soul as he realized that he had been cheated out of his revenge by fate. He had meant to possess her, to conquer her, to own her by the time they arrived at Namek. It was her punishment for locking him up like a rabid animal and now he would never have the pleasure of breaking her.

Along with his disappointment there was another emotion that he had rarely experienced in his thirty-odd years of life. Regret. He regretted that he would never get to feel her milky smooth skin under his palms or inhale the sweet scent of her silky hair.

A small voice cried out in the darkness that infested him. _Mine, _it screamed, echoing down the hollow corridors of his soul. When he had walked into the purger's camp, and he had seen her bound and gagged, intense rage had welled up inside of him. For all of his hate of her, for all of his bitterness, she was _his._ The thought of anyone else's hands on her, male or female, made him want to howl at the moon in fury. He owned her and no one would abuse her except for him. That same voice refused to believe that he had to let her go so soon, that she could escape him so easily.

He blinked, snapping out of his daze, frowning at his distraction. There was no reason for him to hesitate in killing her. He had intending on doing it later, after he had defeated Frieza, but there was nothing stopping him now. It was an unspoken promise between them, that she would die by his hand and no other. He would not cheat her by allowing some disease to ravish her fragile body.

It was better to put her out of her misery rather than listen to her pained moans for the next week. He doubted he would get anything done with her whimpering like a sick puppy.

He heard a thump from inside of her room that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor. He sauntered back into her room, his black heart frozen and unfeeling. His eyes scraped over her bed, noticing with little concern that it was empty. He found her on the floor, half way to the bathroom, panting like a marathon runner. She hadn't been able to struggle back into her top so she lay on her stomach, the gleaming white skin of her back contrasting sharply with the shadows in the room. She looked up at him, her blue hair straggling down in limp strands around her paler than normal face.

"Water," she whispered through cracked lips, and Vegeta knew that she must be burning from fever.

Vegeta refused to acknowledge her. She had already become a corpse to him, and he would not see her any other way. To do so would be useless. Images of her moaning beneath him, her body wrapped around his own rose up out of the darkness of his mind. He snuffed them out ruthlessly as he raised his hand, a small blue ball of ki forming in his palm. The shadows danced as the light flickered, but Bulma remained unmoving at his feet.

Her bright sapphire eyes never left his heartless gaze as she parted her lips to speak.

"At least she got a kiss," Bulma whispered, no fear evident in her tone or beautiful countenance.

Vegeta blinked, a deep frown forming on his smooth brow. "What?"

"Tamin. She was your lover right?" Bulma's innocent question brought a flood of memories to Vegeta. He had bedded Tamin for a week more than two years ago. She had been strong and he had enjoyed her company, but Vegeta never kept a woman much longer than that. He didn't want to risk any sort of affection springing up. After witnessing the scene between the two women earlier, he surmised that a week had been too long.

"What about her?" Vegeta snarled, utterly dumbfounded by the woman's logic. Here he was, ready to send her to the next dimension, and she wanted to talk about his past relationships!

"You killed her too." Bulma's voice broke with sadness.

"That was different." Vegeta shifted uncomfortably, uncertain why he was having this conversation with a corpse. He should get on with it and kill her.

"How so?" Bulma choked out, a single tear sliding down her alabaster cheek.

Vegeta watched the tear slide off the delicate point of her chin before answering her. "It just is."

"Did you love her?"

"No!" Vegeta barked out with suppressed rage, the ki ball in his hand becoming brighter with his emotions.

"But you kissed her," Bulma accused and Vegeta felt himself flush.

"She kissed me," he denied.

"Will you kiss _me_?" Bulma's abrupt change from sharp accusation to soft pleading stunned Vegeta. He looked down at her crumpled body and suddenly he couldn't see the living corpse that he had come to kill, but the woman he wanted in his arms. He was reminded of his dark promise to feel her writhing underneath him before he took her life, to feel her surround him intimately at least once before their eternal parting.

She held one hand out to him, and he found himself extinguishing his ki to reach for her. He bent down, scooping her up off the floor so she was cradled against his chest. He wrapped his muscle laden forearm around her lower back, careful to avoid her wound, his other hand instinctively cupping her rounded bottom to steady her. She fitted easily against him, as if she was created just for him. Her soft breasts flattened against his sculpted torso and through his thin shirt he could feel her blistering heat. She didn't have the strength to hold her head up and it lolled back, her long aqua hair trailing towards the ground.

Vegeta lowered his mouth towards her upturned features; his dark eyes watching the starlight filter across her face. Her mouth parted and although he wasn't touching her yet he could feel the heat of her fever against his lips.

"I think a small part of me always wanted you to touch me. Even when you were trying to kill everyone I loved. Through the crystal ball I watched only you and no one else. Do you think I will go for hell for that?" Her blue eyes glittered and another tear formed on her cheek.

"If you do, then there certainly is no hope for me." Absently he wiped the tear away with his thumb.

With the last of her strength her eyes drifted closed as she lifted her red lips up to his, silently begging for her goodbye kiss. She looked so innocent, purity embodied in a woman that was willing to taint herself for one kiss from a monster---for one taste of the forbidden fruit.

Vegeta lowered his head, brushing his cheek against her much softer one. He heard her rattling breath whisper past his ear as her lungs labored for air. He inhaled deeply, smelling the scent of dried blood and sweat on her skin. Past the acidic odor of death he could taste her essence on his senses, the scent of sunshine and flowers, of joy and laughter, of things he had never seen. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking the image of the woman from his gaze, but that was the only one sense out of five. He could still smell her, feel her, hear her and if he opened his mouth just a fraction he would be able to taste her.

A loud growl of longing rumbled in his chest, and he didn't see as Bulma slit her eyes to peer up at him from under heavy lashes.

"This is the last time woman. I won't save you anymore."

Vegeta easily hefted her up, letting her fly though the air until she landed on the bed again. She moaned in agony as she hit the pillows, and when she uncurled from her painful fetal position Vegeta was no longer in the room, but she was still alive.

Back in the control room, Vegeta changed course for a research facility that was only an hour's flight away. He had taken a Sanchurian survivor there once, years ago at Frieza's request. As the last of his race, he was of great interest to the scientists there, who did experiments on different species. The Sanchurian had begged repeatedly for Vegeta just to kill him and save him from the torment that they both knew that he would endure. In the end the prince had torn out the man's tongue to silence him.

Vegeta was fairly certain that the scientists at the facility would have no idea that Frieza was looking for him. As researchers, they had no interest in the military matters of the universe beyond developing biological weapons for their master. He might as well take a chance and drop the woman off there. It wasn't a hospital, but it should have doctors on staff. He would leave her there and continue on his way. It was the last thing he would ever do for the female. He swore to the heavens that it _would_ be the last time he would save her.

Once they docked, Vegeta returned to Bulma's rooms, sighing when he saw that she was unconscious again. He wrapped her tightly in the blanket from her bed, gathering her up in his arms, careful to avoid her wound. He strode down the gangplank, his wary eyes examining the aliens that scurried around the dock.

Most were creatures that he had never seen before, and Vegeta had the unsettling knowledge that he would probably never find them outside of this facility. They were experimental hybrids, created by splicing together two or more different DNA strands. They were anomalies of the universe, scientific failures that were doomed to spend the rest of their cursed lives cleaning up after the sadistic bastards that had created them.

One such bubbly faced creature shuffled up to them, motioning that Vegeta should follow him out of the docking bay and into a corridor. Vegeta silently trailed behind the abomination, his disgust at the creature's deformed frame locked behind an impenetrable mask of carefully tailored disinterest.

They winded their way through the bowels of the facility, using a network of passages and the occasion lift. As they descended, Vegeta was silently thankful that the woman was unconscious. He knew that she would never condone the suffering that was put on display here. They passed various holding cells, and the creatures that pressed themselves against the bars looked tortured and broken. Vegeta knew that they suffered through horrors that even he couldn't imagine. For all the torment that he had experienced in his life under Frieza, he was grateful that he was a valuable warrior. If he wasn't, then he would have been condemned to this same fate.

A figure slumped against the bars of its cell, and as Vegeta passed he felt a flicker of recognition. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that it may have been the same man that he had brought there all those years ago. The creature in the cell looked nothing like the Sanchurian, except for the eyes. Those eyes watched him pass, burning hate deep in their depths.

Unconsciously, Vegeta gripped Bulma closer to his chest, and she moaned in protest. He looked down at her countenance, flushed with fever, her usually lush lips pale and cracked.

Vegeta had been certain when he first met Bulma that she was out to kill him. He had convinced himself that she was no better than the scientists in Frieza's armies, pitiless and remorseless, experimenting at will on the helpless creatures brought to them. He had been shocked when she worked so hard to fix the glitch in his cage, quickly remedying the error, but he was still unconvinced that she didn't mean to kill him eventually.

She was a complete mystery to him. She had the opportunity to murder him in cold blood, and if that self-righteous, prick bastard Lee hadn't burst in she just might have. To save her world, her family, she would have gone against every moral fiber in her body. He witnessed the struggle inside of her and he had been awed by it. Never had he seen anyone hesitate to kill. It was the law of the land, the only way to survive.

He realized then that although she had him in her power, she would have never required him to kill for her like Frieza did. He was sure that it was something that never crossed her mind, and the idea would probably horrify her. Killing was something that he did, something he had been ordered to do since he was a cub. It came naturally to him, like any other predator. It had never once occurred to him that he didn't have to kill, that he could live a life where bloodying his hands wasn't a necessity.

Vegeta locked away his provoking thoughts as they reached the examination room. The shuffling creature showed him inside, and a doctor turned to greet him. Vegeta kept his features impassive as he explained the situation to the squat male with purplish skin. He laid Bulma out on the table, watching carefully as the doctor examined the wound and took her vitals. His unforgiving eyes narrowed when he saw the bruises on her back from the pounding Tamin had given her, and he was struck by how fragile the woman was. She was physically weak, but she fought with the ferocity of a lioness, protecting herself with the only weapons available to her---nails, teeth and that wicked tongue of hers.

A few minutes later he was forced to remember the oath he swore on the ship as he stared at the doctor who was explaining to him the severity of Bulma's condition.

"So you see, in order to cure her, we need the venom sac from the exact same Arachnoid that bit her. The fascinating thing about that species is that every one of them is unique when it comes to their venom production. Unless you are vaccinated in the first forty-eight hours it's nearly impossible to cure the victim. You have five more days to find the creature that bit her or she will die. Will you be able to do that?"

"No" was Vegeta's clipped reply. Not that he couldn't get back to the planet where he tried to sell Bulma for food and return in five days; he could. The ship that she had built was incredibly sleek and powerful; if he pushed it to the limit he could probably complete the mission in four days, but there was no way that he was going to do it. Absolutely, positively not.

"Oh good," the doctor chortled and Vegeta blinked. "I haven't seen a specimen like this one before. It will be a treat to dissect her."

There was a choked whimper from the bed, but Vegeta refused to look at Bulma, who was just now breaching the surface of consciousness.

Vegeta's stomach clenched when he thought of the cages he had passed. "Whatever," he replied stoically.

"Excellent. She doesn't seem very strong, but I think I can take her DNA for her unusual coloring and mold it together with a Nubarian. In a couple weeks I should be able to grow several hybrids that will turn out beautifully." The doctor moved over to the table to pick up a lank of her blue hair. Her large blue eyes looked up at him before darting over to Vegeta.

"Soon, my dear, your DNA is going to be sold for top dollar on the market. Everyone loves beautiful females. Isn't that right, Prince Vegeta?" The doctor rubbed his hands together as he envisioned the profit that he would make.

Vegeta remained silent as he held Bulma's gaze. The doctor scuttled out of the room, already tallying his money.

"I won't do it," Vegeta growled as soon as the door shut, his eyes never leaving Bulma's. She didn't respond, and he continued with his tirade.

"I have already wasted enough time tracking your weak ass down. I don't have time for this. I have to get to Namek. I have to get the Dragon Balls. I have to become immortal!" He spat the last part vehemently. Still Bulma didn't reply, her blue eyes too large for her face as she watched him.

"You're just slowing me down. I don't need you and I sure as hell don't want you." The last part was screamed at himself as much as it was at her.

His lips curled back into a snarl as he realized that he was trying to defend himself to this small, fragile female who was doing nothing more than staring at him silently. He did not feel guilty, he told himself. He didn't even know what the word meant. He refused to relent. Breaking her visual hold on him, he spun on his heel and strode towards the door.

As he reached the exit she finally spoke. "It's okay Vegeta. If it's true what everyone says about Frieza then I understand your desire to kill him. Someone has to stop him. He's a horrible monster and you have a destiny to fulfill.

Vegeta's shoulders stiffened and all of his inner voices gasped in unison. She understood him. _His destiny._ She pegged it right on the mark.

"I know you wouldn't leave me if you didn't have to. Don't worry, I forgive you." Her soft voice lilted around him, nearly deafening him like an unexpected blow.

He didn't look back as he continued through the door, hearing it hiss closed behind him. He never broke his stride as he crossed the corridor to the far wall, bracing his hands, before he slammed his face full force into the steel buttress. To his left, a scientist squawked, dropping his papers on the ground as he looked on, wide eyed. Vegeta lifted his head from the dented surface and slammed into it again. The scientist turned heel and fled, certain that one of the more violent specimens had gotten free from its cage.

She _forgave_ him. What right did she have to go and do that? What the fuck was the universe coming to when someone like her would forgive someone like him? Did she even know what she was saying? Goddamn woman was going to be the death of him.

Damn.

She forgave him.

Who did she think she was? Pretending to understand him. Spouting words like _destiny _and _desire._ What makes her think that he wouldn't leave her under different circumstances? She was just some fluff of a female he had brought along to entertain him during the long journey, a way to vent his frustrations after being locked up for so long. All he wanted was to get between her legs before he strangled the life from her, nothing more. She was a whore and he was going to use her as such.

Shit.

She forgave him.

Vegeta hauled his face out of the dent, turning on his heel to search out the doctor and tell him that he would be back in four days with the Arachnoid in tow. He swore to the gods that he was going to kill that woman some day. How laughably pathetic that it wasn't going to be today.

Sonofabitch, she forgave him. What a fucking cosmic joke.


	17. Grudges and Kisses

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ, however my Vegeta doll belongs to be and if you try to take it I will bonk you with it.

Warning: Some violence and mild gore.

Lots of thank-yous and sunshine to LisaB, who is stuck in the snow, for beta-ing this chapter for me. I hope she gets warm soon.

A/N: Hey everyone, I know you are impatient for updates, and I don't blame you. Just to let you know, I do try to post something at least once a week. That means if I am not updating here, then I'm doing it somewhere else. Check out my other stories on under the pen name Temptingtemptation or my website that can be accessed through my bio. And remember review, review, review!

Chapter Seventeen

Grudges and kisses

Vegeta landed on the commerce planet a day and half later. He had pushed the ship's engines to their maximum capacity, demanding flawlessness from the virgin machinery. As the engines redlined, his anger spiked, condensing all of his self loathing into one thought.

_I want to kill something._

Things were not going as planned.

He was _supposed_ to be on his way to Namek. He was _supposed_ to be gathering the Dragon Balls so he could make his wish for immortality and defeat Frieza. He was _supposed_ to be stretched out naked on his bed, looking down at the bright-eyed witch who had haunted him for the last several months.

That little whore should be dancing to his tune, not the other way around. He should have fucked and discarded her by now, not running around the goddamn universe trying to keep her skinny, little butt alive.

_Women!_

They were far more trouble than they were worth. He should have stuck to his usual method of dealing with them---fuck 'em and leave 'em. Of course he couldn't do that. Oh no, he had to go and take her with him. He had to have the bright idea of keeping her as his slave for the trip to Namek. He just had to imagine what it would be like to be between her white thighs, thrusting inside of her while swallowing her screams of pleasure. He allowed himself to be lured into the web of his lustful imagination, and this is what it got him.

A bug hunt in the middle of nowhere.

He touched down on the outskirts of town, prepping the ship for immediate dust off as soon as he got back. It was dark, and the waxing moon was high in the sky when he exited. He raised his face to the moonlight, allowing the stench of the rotten city to roll over him. He slid his tongue over his incisors, feeling the fangs pulse with the need to grow and stretch as the moonlight reflected in his black-mirrored eyes. The moon was almost full on this planet, and the beast inside of him roared with approval.

He started for the town, darting unseen through the pools of moonlight and stalking through the shadows. He knew that no one would question his appearance here, but he veered away from as much traffic as possible, scouting the area between the ship and the trader's hut. Vegeta wanted to make sure that no one saw him take the Arachnoid and consequently make trouble for him. As far as anyone was concerned, Vegeta wanted them to think that the bug vanished from the face of the planet.

He circled around the edges of the market, scenting the air for other intruders. He could feel the presence of other beings, moving around in the tents that doubled as their shops and homes. All of the venders were closed for the night, and most were sleeping in their beds. Vegeta easily found his way behind the Arachnoid's tent, its distinctive green banner flapping in the wind.

He stretched out his senses, frowning when he realized that the space behind the dirty cloth was empty. Vegeta extended his right index finger, heating his ki at the tip and easily sliced through the material to step inside. He scanned the interior, noting that the damage from their earlier confrontation had been repaired, and most of the clay goblets replaced.

Vegeta inhaled deeply, grimacing as the stink of the Arachnoid invaded his lungs. He tasted the spider's spore in the air, imprinting it in his mind so he could track it. He followed the odor outside, carefully deciphering it from the thousands of different smells the permeated the market, its lingering trail leading him to a red light district.

Vegeta growled, his fangs flashing crimson under the neon lights that advertised booze and whores for only a few creds. All you had to do to fulfill your perverted fantasies was step inside a filthy cantina filled with even filthier people. The disgusting stench spiked, and the Arachnoid's spore became faint next to the smell of sex, alcohol and vomit. Vegeta renewed his efforts, methodically shifting through the scents and grabbing hold of the spider's. Eventually it led him to a rowdy establishment, loud music pouring outside onto the street along with a drunkard that was thrown at Vegeta's feet by a burly bouncer.

Vegeta stepped aside with a disgusted sneer, glancing up at the immobile face of the beast that guarded the door. The huge Attilian folded all four of his thick, hairy arms, and glared down at Vegeta, attempting to intimidate him into submission. Vegeta's eyes narrowed, and the cold threat of death seeped from him, causing the bouncer stiffen slightly in indecision. He knew that he could slip past the guard and into the bar without a problem. He would be able to locate the Arachnoid with ease, but luring him outside would be nearly impossible. If the bug had half a brain he wouldn't go anywhere alone with the prince, and Vegeta didn't want to haul his carcass out and cause a scene. After all, he was, by all counts, a wanted man. Frieza was looking for him, and the last thing he needed was greedy civilians pointing out his position.

Vegeta shot one last sneer at the nervous bouncer, and walked past the door to the dark alley to wait. He leaned against the cracked wood wall of the neighboring building, crossing his arms across his chest, his chin pointing down. His face and form were shrouded in shadows, the only thing to be seen were the flashing of his angry eyes. He watched from his hidden post as various drunken patrons stumbled out of the bar, waiting impatiently for his prey so he could snatch him off the street.

He stood completely still for an hour, his annoyance skyrocketing with every wasted second. He berated himself endlessly for being there, for taking the time to save a useless female that meant absolutely nothing to him, but he made no move to leave. His scorn for his weakness ran like a mantra in his head, whipping his anger to an unruly pitch, and driving it to the edge of unreasonableness.

"Hey there, han'sum."

Still facing the door, Vegeta's onyx eyes slid to the side, observing the well-used female that stood next to him. Her tattered clothing and forward demeanor instantly announced her as a street doxy, and her fake smile did nothing to enhance her haggard appearance. Deep in her tired eyes, Vegeta noticed a dim light of interest, and he almost snorted. He was probably the cleanest male she had seen in years, that alone was probably worth a novelty fuck to her.

"Get lost. I like my females to have least bathed once in their life time."

Vegeta's eyes flickered back to the door, restraining his growl as yet another humanoid male stumbled out. He was getting tired of waiting for his prey, and he was on a tight schedule.

"Well, ya don't hav'ta be rude about it. Ya look so tense. I was just thinkin' I could help ya out."

The woman moved away towards the bar, completely missing Vegeta's eyes narrowing in consideration. His hand lashed out to curl around her upper arm as he yanked her deeper into the shadows.

She gave a startled squeak, but she made no move to struggle. She regained her balance, swallowing hard as she looked up at the cold features of the man who crowded her against the wall.

"Ya don't hav'ta get rough. I'm ready and willin', ya just gotta give a girl notice."

"Shut up."

The woman's eyes widened, and Vegeta could tell that they were a muddy green, too many late nights and narcotics tainting their color.

"Are you familiar with this establishment?" Vegeta asked coolly.

"Establishment?" the whore repeated with confusion. Vegeta briefly wondered if the word was too big for her. They weren't huge on education on this waste bucket of a planet.

"Oh, ya mean Heady's?" She nodded to the side, indicating the bar that Vegeta was watching. "Sure, the best place on this side of town to get head," she snickered at her own joke. With bravery born from her profession, the whore cupped the bulge between Vegeta's thighs, mistakenly thinking that he had pulled her into the alley for something other than a little Q and A.

Vegeta wrenched her hand away, squeezing her wrist painfully, but not with enough pressure to hurt her.

"Do that again and I will break your wrist in half. "

"Yah, yah, okay. No touching. Got it." He released her arm, and she yanked it back, cradling it protectively against her.

"Good. Now does this place have a back door?" Vegeta asked.

The woman stared up at him for a split second, still unable to understand what he wanted, but more than willing to play along. If he wanted to know how many stars there were in the sky she would do her damnedest to find out for him. It was either that or end up lying painfully broken in the alleyway.

"Sure. It's over there." She pointed behind her, down the dark alley.

"Do you have access to it?"

"Yah, I go in and out all night. Heady likes me and lets me do my business out here." She rolled her eyes away, glaring at the back alley. "For a fee of course," she muttered.

Vegeta gazed into the darkness. His eyesight let him see past the shadows, and into the garbage strewn alleyway. There were no windows facing inwards, and with no witnesses, it would be the perfect place for an ambush. Vegeta's cold eyes settled on the woman again, and she shivered.

"Excellent. There is something that I want you to do for me." He leaned closer to her, menacing her with his mere presence. "It would be worth your while to help me."

Vegeta was still undecided whether or not he would let the street whore live after she performed her task. He felt little remorse about exterminating her to cover his tracks. Hell, she would probably thank him for ending her pathetic life.

Her green eyes glittered, and her face turned sly. He now had her complete attention. It wasn't every night that she could make a couple creds without having to get on her knees.

"I'm listenin'."

"There's a food trader inside, an Arachnoid…"

"Trike."

"What?" Vegeta frowned disapprovingly down at her for interrupting him.

"Trike the Spike. He's the only Arachnoid food trader in the area."

"You know him then?"

"Yah, I know the bastard."

Vegeta waited patiently for her to explain. His black eyes boring into her, demanding that she tell him everything.

"All the girls know him. He has a bad habit of biting. He thinks that just cause he throws you a couple of coins afterwards to get the antidote that it's okay, but it's not!" she spat bitterly. "And if your real unwillin' he spikes you with one of those nasty talons of his. A real nut-fuck he is."

"Do you know how many scars I have from that creep?" She pulled up her sleeve, exposing her dirty underarm to the moonlight. The flesh seemed unnaturally dimpled, and Vegeta realized that a small chunk was missing.

"The last time he bit me, I missed work for two nights 'cause I was so sick. I told the bastard that he owed me, but he just laughed." She crossed her arms across her chest in a huff, her lower lip extending in a vicious pout. "What I wouldn't do to get a hold of that freak." She muttered the last part to herself, while she stared off in the distance.

Vegeta nearly smiled in victory. Things were starting to look up in his favor. He leaned closer to the wench, gaining her undivided attention once again. She felt her breath catch in her chest as a look of pure malice darkened the handsome features of the man before. She had been in bad situations before, but nothing as scary as talking to this man.

"Great. So you won't mind luring him out here for me then."

His silky voice promised untold threats of violence that sent her animal instincts running for cover. Her skin shank on her bones, desperately trying to crawl away without her and her heart shriveled with fear.

Wordlessly she nodded. She knew that she was about to enter into a pact with the devil to help him to commit a heinous crime, but she didn't care. She would do it for free, if it meant never seeing that freak bastard Arachnoid again.

Vegeta stepped back, freeing her from his overwhelming presence. His eyes still held her, conveying to her the unquestionable knowledge that if she didn't follow through that he would come hunting her next. She took a deep breath, and took a step away on shaky legs. He watched her go, making no move to stop her as she stepped out of the shadows and into the light. She walked up to the door, waving her hellos to the bouncer, her spine tingling from his scrutiny the entire way.

She disappeared inside, and Vegeta moved towards the end of the alley, confidant that the female would succeed in her mission. He had always known that hate was a driving force of the universe. Hate made you strong. It gave you courage where there was none. Hate made you stand up, and strike down your enemy without remorse. The whore's hatred of the spider would give her the fortitude she needed to get the job done.

Vegeta wasn't disappointed. Five minutes later, the back door opened and the couple spilled out into the alley. He shifted deeper into the shadows, watching to be sure that they were alone.

"Ah, Beb, I thoughts yous was mad ats me. I'ms glads you gots overs it."

The Arachnoids black, spiked arms unfolded from under his shirt, wrapping their way around the much smaller female. The whore smiled back at the spider, but Vegeta could see a hint of desperation in her eyes as she scanned the shadows, looking for him.

"Ya know me, Trike. I never keep a grudge." Beb's voice was light and airy, but the brittle lie could be heard underneath. Beb was one to definitely keep a grudge.

The inebriated trader took her words for face value, his arms roving freely over her malnourished curves.

"Ya, you're da bestest Beb."

Without being seen, Vegeta circled around behind the couple, emerging soundlessly from the shadows. The only warning that the trader had was the subtly widening of Beb's eyes as she caught site of her demon conspirator stalking up behind them. Vegeta clamped his hand down on Trike's neck, pinching the nerves that ran through his body. The spider's arms went lax, allowing Beb to escape from his grasp unharmed. She backed up, watching with sadistic anticipation.

Vegeta caught one whiff of the trader and his upper lip curled in disgust. He tossed the man effortlessly into the wall, stunning the bloated spider with the impact. Vegeta ignored him as he began to weave several feet of ki rope from his fingertips, coiling the golden strands at his feet.

"Yous!"

Vegeta looked up to see the Arachnoid gaping at him with one talon outstretched.

"What are yous doing here? I shoulds reports yas. Yous mades a deals and brokes its."

"You shouldn't have bitten my female," Vegeta stated calmly as he continued to coil more rope at his feet.

Trike's ruddy features turned pale, and he swallowed nervously.

"That was a mistake. Me's sorry, but shes was so rowdy. Shes wouldn't stay still. Shes attacked mes. Yous shoulds punish her."

"Worse. You didn't tell me that you bit her and now she's sick."

Trike began to wave his hands in front of him, warding off Vegeta as he pressed his plump body into the side of the building.

"I was goings to tells yous, but you took her away befores I was done. That wasn't right. You shoulds have lets mes finish."

Vegeta glared at the offensive insect who huddled against the wall. "She is my female and I decide what happens to her. I changed my mind. That is my right as her male."

"But it wasn't fairs. I just wanted to taste her." Trike whined pathetically.

Vegeta snarled at the trader's words. The thought of anyone else _tasting_ Bulma, sent the possessive animal inside of him into a full blown rage. She was _his_ female. His to touch. His to smell. His to taste.

"Your mother must have been one dumb bitch if she taught you that life was fair."

Trike's thin lips twisted back from his razor sharp teeth at the insult, and he launched himself off the wall towards Vegeta. His talons slashed out, narrowly missing Vegeta's soft underbelly in his attack. Vegeta dodged the man's frenzied assault, easily capturing him in his relentless grip.

"Yous deserves to have your female die. You's are nothing but a cheat. She's going to die and yous are going to be all alones."

Vegeta felt something dark and furious move beneath his skin at the man's words. His hand clamped down around the spider's collar bone, breaking it with a snap. Trike cried out, falling to his knees in pain before the demon that towered over him. Vegeta didn't hear him as the words echoed in his head. _Alone, _his mind repeated. The beast that lingered so close the surface under the waxing moon, roared in fury, and all he could see with the flash of the Arachnoid's silver teeth.

Vegeta's other hand tightened into a fist, curling all of his hate into his palm. He slammed his fist repeatedly into Trike's mouth, breaking out his poisoned fangs with every blow. Blood splattered on Vegeta's cheek, and he reared back. His nostrils flared as he glared down at the man who knelt pitifully at his feet, the only the grip on his shirt keeping him upright. Painful moaning echoed up from the spider's bloody maw, his teeth scattered on the ground around him, like the beads of a broken necklace.

Chuckling from behind him woke Vegeta from his daze. He glanced over his shoulder to see Beb hiding her laughter behind her hands, her green eyes dancing maliciously. She saw him looking at her, and she lowered her hands to clap in delight. Her demented pleasure at the sight of Trike's broken fangs almost disturbed Vegeta. Almost.

Efficiently, Vegeta bound the pathetic, weeping male in the ropes, making sure that his talons were secured. He quickly searched his clothes, finding what he was looking for tucked inside the man's shirt. He pulled out the heavy wallet, not even glancing inside as he tossed it to Beb.

She caught it deftly, eagerly opening it up. Her eyes widened with delight as she plucked out the wad of cash that was inside. As a food trader, Trike was wealthy in his own right, if you call two steps above starving wealthy, but to Beb that was far more than she had. The amount of money in his wallet alone guaranteed that she wouldn't have to work for at least a month, and that was pure heaven to her.

"You also might want to swing by his place before dawn. He won't be needing anything there."

Beb snickered and nodded, tucking the money between her breasts for safe keeping. Maybe if he had enough goods she could start her own business, and never have to touch another male for as long as she lived.

"You never saw me." Vegeta's black eyes sought hers out in the darkness. For the first time, she met them with confidence, a genuine smile gracing her features.

"Mister, I didn't see nuthin' and I didn't do nuthin'. I have no idea what happened to Trike. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

Vegeta nodded in acceptance, knowing that she wouldn't rat out the one person who changed her life forever.

Vegeta swung the trader over his shoulder, gathering his legs under him. In one leap he cleared the back wall of the alley, landing on the roof of the next building. He never looked back to see the awed expression on Beb's face as he leapt across the rooftops with preternatural speed, a mere blur in the shadows.

He reached the ship without incident, dumping his cargo in the same utility closet that he had threatened Bulma with not so long ago. He took off at full throttle, eager to get back to the research base, collect his female, and continue on his way.

He arrived at the lab a little over a day later. He amazed himself that he was able to cover the distance in three days instead of the predicted four, a new record he was sure. The ship that Bulma had built was magnificent in design, but he suspected that he may have pushed it a little too far. He told himself that he wanted to get back on course to Namek as soon as possible, so he could fulfill his destiny. He ignored the roaring voice in the back of his head that raged against leaving Bulma, alone and unprotected, in the hands of a scientist that had dubious moral standards.

He hadn't checked on Trike since the journey began, and he found the bug sitting against the back wall, smelling suspiciously like urine. Vegeta grimaced, and hefted him up to a standing position using only his tail. He dragged the struggling Arachnoid behind him as he marched off the ship and down the corridors to the examination room without a word.

Vegeta's entranced startled the doctor who was leafing through some papers on his clipboard. His wide eyes darted up, taking in the Prince's arrogant stance and the man he had trussed up beside him.

"Oh!" It took a moment for the situation to sink in. "Oh, yes I see. You're back sooner than expected."

The man shifted nervously, and Vegeta's eyes narrowed. The doctor was acting jumpy around him, but the prince was used to a near panic reaction from people whenever he was in the room. Vegeta was uncertain if the man was just scared of him or if he had done something worthy enough to raise his ire.

"Well, bring him over here." The doctor patted the stainless steel gurney.

Vegeta refused to move, keeping his arms crossed in front of him. Instead he hauled the trader out from behind him. The Arachnoid had to balance himself precariously on his toes, barely able to keep himself from strangling on Vegeta's tail that was wrapped around his neck like a noose.

His bloody mouth gapped open as he struggled to choke air into his lungs, all six of his black eyes bulging unnaturally.

"Okay," the doctor said slowly. He stepped closer to the man, examining his mouth.

"Umm. All of his teeth seem to be broken out." The trader coughed, and the doctor darted a look at the cold warrior that held him.

"So. What of it?" Vegeta relished the memory of the sickening crunch of the male's teeth cracking under his fist. On the journey back, Vegeta meditated on the situation he was in. He concluded that all of his problems lay at the feet of this pathetic, mewling weakling who dared to think he had the right to _taste_ his female.

The doctor backed away, his nervous eyes becoming more jumpy. "Well you see. Without his incisors I can't milk the venom." The man twisted his hands in front of him, truly afraid of the warrior's reaction to this new hiccup.

"Then get it directly," Vegeta snarled.

"Oh, I can't do that," he protested, waving his hands in front of him.

"Why?" Vegeta's voice was menacing to the extreme, raising the hackles on both the doctor's and Trike's necks.

"Because, his venom sac in located in a fleshy pouch in the back of his skull, directly beneath the brain. I can't extract that without killing him, and it so happens that Arachnoid's are on Frieza's protected species list. I can't perform such a procedure…"

The doctor fell silent, his mouth gaping open as a loud, wet squish echoed in the room, followed by a metallic clang as the trader's head was dropped onto the table. Vegeta unwrapped his tail, from the man's severed neck, not even blinking as his body hit the ground with a dull thud.

The doctor's eyes leapt from the head to Vegeta, and back to the head. He closed his mouth with a snap, swallowing as he gathered his thoughts.

"Oh yes. Well, I guess since you are a soldier you don't have to follow such silly rules. Of course, I should have thought…"

"Stop talking and start working," Vegeta's chilled voice lashed out, silencing the panicked doctor.

The doctor whirled away, quickly gathering the implements he would need to extract the venom so he could reproduce the cure. Vegeta stepped back into the shadows, silently watching the man as he worked.

Once the poison was gathered, the creation of the antivenin was relatively easy. An hour later the doctor filled a syringe with clear liquid, holding up to the light to look for any impurities.

"Okay then. Let's get that little girl fixed up." The squat man turned towards the door, but Vegeta's rumbling voice stopped him.

"Doctor."

He turned to look at the soldier who was still tucked into a dark corner. All he could see was his shadowy form and a glint of light in his black eyes.

"Yes?"

There was a long moment of silence, and the Doctor's brow furled in concern. Vegeta quietly assesed the man in front of him. He wanted to be very clear on something, yet at the same time he dreaded saying the words. It felt like he was betraying a part of himself. The dark beast that he relied on for so many years to keep him alive.

"You will not tell the female of the Arachnoid's demise."

The doctor blinked, and the furrows in his brow became deeper. "I, umm…"

Vegeta stepped out of the darkness and into the light, intimidating the smaller man.

"If she asks, you will tell her he is fine."

"Yes. Yes, of course," the doctor agreed, a fine sheen of sweat coating his body.

Vegeta nodded once, and the doctor gratefully escaped from the room.

Vegeta glared at the white tiled floor, his firm lips compressed into a straight line of displeasure. He wasn't sure why he didn't want Bulma to know that he killed Trike. If it had been any other female they would have demanded his death as their due. The spider had wounded her, and yet he knew instinctively that she wouldn't want any harm done to him. Yes, he had tried to rape her. Yes, he had hurt her, but she wouldn't condone such drastic violence against him.

Vegeta didn't understand why he even cared. Whether or not she approved of him killing the Arachnoid should make no difference to him, but it did. After chasing her around the galaxy, killing off his fellow soldiers to save her, his hard journey and subduing the spider freak, the last thing he wanted was to have to look at her sad, disappointed eyes.

Besides, it would only make it that much harder to get between her legs.

The last was thought in a hard voice, and he echoed it with a growl of agreement. That was the point of the whole endeavor wasn't it? To keep her alive long enough to fuck her?

Vegeta snorted, wiping his thoughts away with disgust as he followed the doctor out the door and down the corridor. He entered her room behind the doctor, retreating to a corner as he watched the man administer the cure.

Bulma roused from her restless sleep, watching with heavy eyes as the doctor swabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?" she murmured.

"Curing you, my dear." At his words, her eyes snapped fully open, and she scanned the room, stopping when she saw Vegeta.

"You came back." Her soft words lingered between them, her disbelief tangible in every syllable. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, but he didn't respond. Her eyes flickered back to the doctor as he injected her in the arm.

"And the trader?"

The doctor hesitated for only a second before responding. "He's fine. Just fine. He's resting now."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed and he set his jaw angrily. He knew she would ask after the welfare of that worm. Her heart was too big for sure. After everything they had been through in such a short time, her first concern was the health of the bug that bit her. Would she ever learn?

The doctor pulled out the syringe, placing it back on the tray. He clucked lightly while he checked her vitals, making sure that everything was normal. He turned away to face Vegeta, instinctively knowing that he needed to pacify the dominate male in the room.

"The antivenin is fast acting. Her fever should show signs of breaking within the hour. She can be out of bed by tomorrow, not that I suggest that, and as good as new by the end of the week."

"Fine. You can go now."

Not once did Vegeta look at the doctor as he left the room, instead his dark eyes roamed over the pale woman who lay in the bed. He could see the toll the fever took on her in the strained lines of her face. Her bright eyes had begun to dim and her blue hair was lank and lifeless.

He slowly stalked up to her, noticing with a small amount of pride that she didn't shrink from him. His entire life, those who were weaker than him had always flinched in his presence, but never her. She always looked him in the eye, head on, daring him to take his best shot.

Vegeta leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head so he could stare directly down into her face.

"Don't think that this changes anything, woman. You are still mine to do with as I please. I saved you and now I own you. No one else. Only me." He paused letting the words sink in.

Her fever-hazed mind was weak to an attack and his words wound around her brain, imprinting themselves deeply inside of her. She couldn't remember the world before Vegeta. He was the center of her everything. His words were pure in their inevitability, and she accepted it like the elderly accept death. Calmly and tranquilly.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered back.

"Do you?"

"I understand that you are claming the right to take my life whenever your wish."

He stared down at her, his eyes heating with dark lust. Her clear perception of the situation, even while ill, aroused him. Wrenching need clawed at him, almost doubling him over with mouth watering pain. He wanted to tear her covers away, crawl on top of her lush body and fuck her until she couldn't scream anymore.

"But do you understand the responsibility that comes with that?"

Vegeta's black eyes narrowed, and he reined in his roving thoughts at her words.

"What do you mean?"

"You want to own me. You want the right kill me, but to do that you must protect me. If someone else gets hold of me first then you won't get what you want most."

A thick growl rumbled up from his chest at her words. Images of males pawing her naked flesh rose up in his mind. He didn't regret killing the Arachnoid, in fact he wished he could do it again.

"No one is ever going to touch you again, but don't think you can trick me. Your fate lies in my hands."

She flashed him a smile, conveying her total lack of fear of his threat.

"I'm a brilliant woman, Vegeta, but I promise to try my hardest not to out think you."

He snarled angrily in the back of his throat, and grabbed her by the shoulders to lift her up off the bed. Unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her fever chapped lips against his full ones. Her kiss was not amorous in nature. It was not meant to seduce or invite. It was almost sisterly, but it warmed him to his very toes.

Her action stunned him, shutting down his mind until he could barely think. He had never met a female like her before, first she teased him, then she kissed him. It was in that instant that it truly dawned on him---she _was_ teasing him. No one ever had the audacity to do such a thing before.

He gathered her closer to his chest, letting his lust seep into her innocent kiss. His entire body ached to possess her fully as she melted into him, letting him take the lead. Her body was perfectly fitted to him, made for him. Her round curves softened his hard lines, showing him the beauty of gentleness. He slipped his tongue over her lips, demanding entrance, needing to taste her sweetness. Her head tipped back, welcoming his intrusion with a soft moan that danced down his spine and straightened his tail.

Her small hand settled on the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in his thick hair. Her other hand roamed over his rounded shoulder, secretly delighting in the sheer amount of strength found there. He was not an obscenely big man, rather short in stature, but there was no mistaking the power that his finely honed body wielded. It doubled his size, increasing his bulk until he filled the room with his presence. He was a weapon of mass destruction, but he held her in his arms as gently as she would pet a kitten.

For all of his words, for all of his intimidation, he treated her like she was as delicate as spun sugar, and to Bulma that spoke louder than any shouted threat. He didn't leave her alone to die in some alien facility; he came back for her. Perhaps he would kill her some day, but the growing darkness inside of her accepted that. She was immersed in a dangerous world that she didn't understand, so full of evil that it made her physically ill. She would not lie down and willingly die. No, she would fight to the bitter end. But if she had to die, then she would rather that it was Vegeta that killed her than some horrible, nameless monster that stalked her in the night.

Vegeta was intoxicated by her taste, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl up onto the bed beside her, but he could feel the heat of her fever on her lips. She was still ill, and he wanted more from her than a ten minute fuck before she fell unconscious. He wanted her spread out and screaming for him all night long. His tongue feathered over her lips, licking them softly in a silent goodbye before he retreated.

She settled back against his strong arms that had encircled her back to support her. Her face was pale and her breathing rapid. He knew she was still in the throws of her illness and their _conversation_ was sapping her by the second.

He was about to lay her back onto the bed when she reached out her hand to cup his lean jaw in her palm.

"I don't think you are as bad as you think you are, Vegeta."

He stared down at her, at a complete loss at how to respond to her innocent comment. Her fever bright eyes held his dark ones without fear, combined with a hint of longing that sent his fiery lust raging. Before he could formulate a reply the door slid open, and the doctor scuttled in.

"What are you doing?"

The question jumpstarted Vegeta into action, and he wrapped the blanket protectively around Bulma, gathering her up into his arms.

"I'm taking her."

"You can't. She needs to rest," the startled doctor exclaimed.

"She can rest on the ship." Vegeta brushed past the doctor, ignoring his sputtering. "I have places to be."

Vegeta strode out the door, his female tucked securely in his arms, her blankets fluttering behind them.


	18. Building Tensions

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or Vegeta, but don't tell my fragile psyche that.

All my thanks to LisaB for editing my work, any errors are entirely mine.

Chapter Eighteen

Building Tensions

Vegeta leaned his shoulder against the doorway, his eyes raking hungrily down Bulma's body as she bent over the drive shaft. She wore the black pants he had bought her, and the tight leather pulled taut over her sleek curves with every movement she made. His groin tightened, and he instantly regretted his purchase---a sackcloth would have been much more preferable.

It had only been a few days since they left the research facility, and Bulma was still feeling the effects of her illness. Her fever had broken, and she was nowhere near dying, but she wasn't the sparkling jewel he was used to seeing either. He had pulled her out of bed, demanding that she find out why they had inexplicably slowed down. She complied, but her energy was at a low ebb, immediately reminding him that she wasn't fully recovered and therefore off limits.

As much as he was disturbed by the fact that he was obsessed with bedding her, he was much more concerned about the change in the atmosphere between them. He had convinced himself that he had not changed his stance on her doomed fate. He would bed her then he would kill her. He was certain had made that quite clear to her back at the lab, but the change in her attitude seemed to indicate otherwise.

Saving her life, not once but twice, caused a drastic shift in how she viewed him. She stood before him now unafraid, much the same way she had when the protective barrier separated them. She looked him in the eye with renewed confidence, smiling at him amiably. In fact, she was downright _friendly_.

That shook him to the very core. Never before had someone looked at him with a hint of friendliness on their countenance. By his own choice he had no comrades in Frieza's army; none could be trusted, and he disdained lowering himself by being in their company. Nappa and Raditz had been nothing more than subordinates to him. They bowed to him; they served him, but they were not his friends. They weren't even trustworthy.

Vegeta grimaced to himself, remembering Nappa's demise at his hand back on Earth. Such a bold move on his part would certainly get him punished by Frieza, but it was well worth it. He suspected that Nappa's loyalty was compromised, and he had leapt on the opportunity of ridding himself of his watchful gaze, but now he was truly alone in the universe. He was the last Saiyan left. He and that disgrace, whom he was chasing.

He was alone. Just him, this malfunctioning ship, and the woman.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed as Bulma leaned over the machinery, arching herself up on her toes to see more clearly.

By all rights, she should be cowering from him. He had honestly told her that he claimed the right to take her life. He spelled it out in blood. He would fuck her and kill her. Plain and simple.

Instead she was humming under her breath as she worked. What was wrong with her? Was she insane?

"Well, Vegeta, you really mucked it up this time."

He blinked, uncertain for a moment if the voice he heard was outside his head or within.

"What?"

"I said you mucked it up." Bulma turned to face him, wiping her greasy hands on a rag.

Vegeta's dark brows met in the center as he glared at the calm woman in front of him. He straightened from the doorway, and stepped inside of the room, immediately trying to threaten her with his mere presence. She just looked at him, waiting for his reaction to her accusation.

"What the fuck are you talking about woman?" he snarled.

"Look Vegeta. I don't know what you did, but you've busted the confabulator." She gestured behind her, a sigh of disgust lisping from her lips. Vegeta scowled at her, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"Fix it."

She glared at him before rolling her eyes. "I can't fix it. I have to replace it. I need a new part, and I have no idea how I'm going to find something compatible way out here in the middle of space."

Vegeta stalked closer, leaning over her menacingly. "You will fix it now or it will go badly for you."

"Look, bud." Bulma poked him in the chest as she spoke. "I wasn't the one racing around the universe like a teenager in a stolen hover car."

Vegeta snatched her hand away, pulling her into his chest as he growled in her ear. "If you remember, time is of the essence, woman."

She resisted, but at his words she melted against him. She tipped her face up to look at him, confounding him with her brilliant smile.

"I know," she said softly.

The heat that coiled through him was instantaneous, and was just as potent as the poison that had swam in her veins. A small unperceivable tremor spiked through him as the need to pin her to the nearest wall exploded inside him.

Roughly he pushed her away, whirling towards the door, showing her his back. He fisted his hands at his sides to stop himself from grabbing her.

He heard her clear her throat just before her silky voice wrapped itself around him.

"I need to get a replacement part."

Thankful for the distraction, Vegeta quickly listed all their viable options in his head. There was a way station on a broken asteroid that orbited a nearly lawless planet. It was a scavenger colony, and the inhabitants were nothing more than space pirates, but he was certain that they would be able to find a compatible component there.

"I know of a place, two days travel from here. I will set the coordinates, but after this there will be no more delays. Do you understand me?"

"Of course."

He stepped toward the door intending to leave when he heard a high pitched screech of grinding metal. The ship gave a sickening lurch, throwing him forward, but he regained himself quickly. He spun around, lashing out his tail to catch Bulma securely around the waist before she could fall. His natural grace allowed him to keep his feet, even when she collided with his chest, her arms wrapping around him. As he steadied her, he could feel the ship slowing even more, until it seemed like it wasn't even moving.

Bulma bounded away towards the drive shaft, and he loosed his tail to let her go, feeling her loss inexplicably. She had felt so perfect in his arms.

The machine was spewing black smoke, and Bulma coughed as she dove into the cloud. He heard muttering, and a few choice words that would make some soldiers blush. After a few minutes she stepped out of the thinning cloud, her eyes downcast as she held a broken hunk of metal in her hands.

He reached out to take it from her, dread twisting in his stomach.

"How bad?"

It's the transconfublator."

"Is the ship dead in the water?"

She darted a hurried glance up at his stoic features. "No!" She waved her hands in front of her in an appeasing manner. "No. We can still maneuver; it's just going to take us a little longer."

"How long?"

Bulma swallowed before answering, "Four days, maybe five."

Vegeta cursed viciously and threw the defective component against the wall, denting the smooth steel.

Bulma jumped back, and some of her old fear shone in her eyes. Vegeta turned away, raking his hand roughly through his hair. Bulma's eyes were drawn to Vegeta's tail that swept to and fro, like an angry cat's.

"I have to get to Namek." Vegeta's words were raw, and Bulma felt her body clench.

Namek meant her death, but for Vegeta it was life. She was sure that very little, if anything at all, gave him pleasure. The only thing that kept him going was his thirst for revenge. Without it, he would have died long ago on some forgotten battlefield, but his tortured pride wouldn't let him. He needed his vengeance more than he needed air to breathe. Even if he failed, at least he would have the satisfaction of dying while trying.

She stepped towards him, noticing how his tail slid away to avoid hurting her. Even with his back to her, he knew exactly where she was at all times. His heightened awareness was a constant amazement to her.

She placed a delicate hand in the center of his back between his shoulder blades. She ignored the stiff set of his shoulders, instead choosing to feel relief that he didn't pull away.

"I know. I'll make sure you get to Namek, Vegeta. I swear it."

At her touch he felt all of his anger seep away. She had the ability to draw out the pain from his soul, like venom from a rancid wound. Her touch was powerful and though he resented it, he craved it even more. He turned around, and she pulled her hand away, suddenly uncertain. He looked down at her, disbelief reflecting in his deep set, black eyes.

"And then I will kill you." It was a statement, but even to his ears it sounded like a question.

Her eyes slid away from his and focused on some unseen spot on the ground. She shrugged dismissively, unwilling to think of a future that she didn't exist in.

"Stupid woman."

He huffed dismissively, and finally strode out of the room, leaving her alone to contemplate her dark thoughts.

A few days later Vegeta and Bulma stepped off their craft and onto the dock at Omally Three. Vegeta had tried to convince Bulma to stay on board, but she had whined and wheedled until he gave in. He preferred to keep an eye on her anyways. He didn't quite trust the space pirates not to hotwire the ship, and take off with his only mode of transportation, along with the obnoxious woman.

"I'm cold."

"Shut up."

"Well, dammit. I'm cold. If you had gotten me something else to wear besides this sleeveless slutty bustier, I wouldn't be complaining."

Bulma was still wearing the only set of clothing she had, a leather top and pants. The only difference was a long bar, about the size of her forearm that she had strapped to her thigh. Vegeta was curious about the new adornment, but he didn't dare ask. The last thing he wanted to hear about was the woman's twisted fashion sense.

Vegeta rolled his eyes as he strode down the corridor, well in front of the whining woman.

"Look. I already told you. It's cold in here because of the extra oxygen being pumped in to purify the air. It's either that or an intolerable stench. We don't have time to stop and get you something else. Besides you're lucky you aren't naked, woman."

Bulma huffed at his reply as she looked around the empty hall.

"You said that they kept the atmosphere in here cold because there were so many people packed in here like sardines." She shot a glare at Vegeta's rigid back before continuing. "I don't see anyone."

"You will."

They exited the corridor into a large platform that was bustling with activity. From Bulma's perspective it seemed to be a small town located on the asteroid, and although it was busy, Bulma still didn't see enough people to justify the chilly air filtration.

"Hmm." Bulma rolled her eyes at Vegeta's back.

"Shut the fuck up and follow me."

They entered into an alleyway, and followed its twisting path to another side of the indoor city. Vegeta paused, turning towards her, a look of irritation clearly etched on his face.

"Stay here." Bulma started to protest, but Vegeta raised his hand to stall her. "Just for once, do as I say and stay right here." He pointed to the exact spot that he wanted her to stand, and Bulma couldn't help but to snap her heels together in a sharp salute. Vegeta growled, and Bulma snickered at his retreating back as he disappeared around the corner.

Bulma looked around the empty passageway, seeing nothing of interest. She folded her arms and tapped her foot, thoroughly annoyed with the male who had left her there. It seemed to her that she was always being left behind, even when she was with her friends. Nobody ever wanted to take her into the fray, and she was always left to her own devices while they were off fighting. Of course she was the one who always ended up saving the day with her ingenious creations. Bulma fluffed her hair as she waited.

"Well, aren't you pretty."

Before Bulma could turn around she found herself pinned up against the nearby wall, by a mass of solid, stinking male. She looked up at his features, and she felt a flutter of fear in her heart, along with great deal of excitement. This was the perfect opportunity to prove herself.

"Why, yes I am."

The man blinked at her a moment, confused at her silky response and quick smile. He mistook her grin for acceptance, and he leaned closer feel out her luscious curves with his clumsy paws.

"Two words."

The male stopped what he was doing to look back up at her, confusion written on his brow. "What?"

"Cattle prod."

"Huh?"

The man's look of confusion quickly turned to pain as he hunched over to grab his crotch. He fell to his knees, convulsing violently. Bulma took step back for fear of getting caught in his flailing limbs. Eventually he fell still except for an occasional tremor that wracked his body. Bulma frowned down at him before lifting the rod she had strapped to her thigh up to the light so she could look at the slide setting on the side.

"Oops, too high."

She adjusted the setting while chuckling to herself. She felt so proud at the moment. She had finally saved herself. She hadn't needed to scream or run to Vegeta to protection; instead she had found the means to defend herself against the violent creatures that seemed to rule this universe.

It had only taken her about an hour to create the stun stick in her room and she was grateful that she did. She was tired of Vegeta looking at her like she was some weak imbecile that was in constant need of saving. She had found a way to even the odds.

"Well, don't you look pleased with yourself."

She looked up to see Vegeta standing in the hall with one shoulder braced against the wall as he studied her. With a flicker of his cool eyes he took in the prone body at her feet, and her smiling countenance.

"I am pleased. Aren't you proud of me? I took care of him all by myself." She smiled smugly before bending down to struggle with the knee length black jacket that the man wore.

"You shouldn't be, woman. He's just some weakling. Had someone as powerful as me gotten hold of you, your puny weapon would have been ineffective."

Bulma straightened, cocking her hands on her hips in annoyance.

"Why do you have to be such a killjoy, Vegeta?"

He curved an eyebrow at her, his full lips curling into a condescending smile. "I'm merely saying that your weapon needs to be ranged to be more effective. If you wait until someone has their hands on you then it's too late. You could already be dead."

Bulma huffed, and bent down to continue her fight with the prone man. She was trying to turn him over so she could slide the jacket off him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cold, "she replied, abhorring the whine in her voice, but unable to control it.

"So you are going to steal his jacket?" Vegeta pushed himself off the wall, and walked over to her.

"I'm not stealing, I'm fining him."

Vegeta gave her a disbelieving look before he moved her aside. He reached down with one hand and flipped the heavy male over, easily removing the jacket from him.

"Fining him?"

"Yes, his jacket is the penalty for touching me."

Vegeta handed her the jacket, unable to hide the appraising smirk that crossed his lips.

"You're becoming more amoral every day."

"I am not," she snapped. "I'm just adapting to my new environment.

"Right," he purred disbelievingly, his tail swishing behind him.

She shrugged into the jacket, looking dejectedly down at the cuffs that covered her hands. Without being asked Vegeta lifted one of her hands and tucked the cuff under, shortening it to fit her wrist. He repeated the process with the other hand, and Bulma stood stock still under his ministrations. The gleam in his black eyes made Bulma uncomfortable, but it also warmed her. She felt a tingle when she realized that he approved of her actions.

He stepped back, his hot gaze skimming over her. She was dressed entirely in black now, her jacket cocked back over one thigh to reveal the weapon she had strapped there.

She looked down at her legs, noticing that the coat came to her mid calf instead of her knees like it should.

"It's a little long."

She raised her head to catch Vegeta smirking approvingly at her, and she couldn't help but smile back at him. Before her eyes his smile melted away, and a slight frown formed between his dark brows.

"It needs to be lethal." His quiet words stole into her heart, striking her at the very core. She knew he was referring back to her weapon, her only defense between her and certain death.

Her sapphire eyes met his black ones, and she saw the dark coldness that resided inside of him. Shivers of dread raced down her spine at the seriousness of his tone.

"I won't kill, Vegeta," she replied softly

He moved closer to her, never breaking their locked gaze. He traced one strong finger down the soft curve of her cheek, waiting to see if she would recoil, but she stood unflinching under his touch.

"What if it was Gen-Seng or Nol for that matter?"

She swallowed hard, caught between her instinct to survive and her moral obligations to herself. His piercing raven eyes studied her, watching the war that raged just beneath the surface. After long moments, she finally answered, startling them both with the sudden presence of her voice.

"If I kill someone to preserve my life, then my life ceases to have value, doesn't it?"

Vegeta frowned down at her, his previous approval melting away under the fires of his disdain.

"If you die, then you have nothing."

"No. I have my soul."

Bulma almost flinched at the amount of pain she saw in Vegeta's eyes a split second before he hid it away behind his brimming anger. She instantly wanted to take back the words, to shove them into her mouth with both hands. How many times had Vegeta killed to preserve his own life? How many times over had he damned his soul?

"A soul, if it even exists, is useless. It is only valued by sanctimonious pricks and ignorant little girls from backwater planets."

He turned away without waiting for her reply, taking the lead once again. The warmth in her chest from his earlier approval faded as she glared at his back. She wanted to say more, but the brief hurt she glimpsed in his eyes held her tongue. She hurried to catch up with him, but he kept his pace brutal so she couldn't draw even with him unless she ran.

They rounded the corner into a room, and she skidded to a stop as she looked inside. It was piled from floor to ceiling with mechanical parts that were haphazardly strewn everywhere. Bulma licked her lips to keep from drooling on herself as she was instantly drawn to the nearest pile of junk.

Before she could reach her destination, Vegeta grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her to a different section of the room.

"Look here for the parts you need," he ordered curtly. Bulma was completely enamored with all the mechanical gizmos, and she dug in without complaint.

Soon she was 'ohhing' and 'ahhing' over the alien technology as she sorted through everything looking for what she needed while mentally cataloging the other components that she saw.

Two hours later she surfaced from the pile, a round canister in her hand. "Found it."

Her bright smile was momentarily stunning. Her perfect features glowed with innate beauty that couldn't be dimmed by the light smudges of grease on her cheek. Vegeta could only stare at her while he struggled to regain his scattered wits. He had never seen anyone react with so much joy over something so simple. Although still angry, he couldn't stop his body from clenching with the need to reach out and wipe the grease from her face.

"It will take some refinements, but I'm sure that I can use this in place of the transconfublator."

He rose to his feet, snatching it from her hand without a word, and stalked away. Bulma frowned at his back before shrugging. If he was still peeved about there last conversation, then it wasn't her problem. She was happier than a kid in a candy store. She wandered off to a nearby corner that was lined with dusty shelves that were littered with mechanical parts. She strolled between the isles, examining the different components as she went.

After a few minutes a whisper of danger slid up her spine, and tickled the back of her neck. She turned around without alarm, knowing intuitively who was behind her.

"What now?" she questioned with an exasperated sigh.

Vegeta's upper lip curled in disgust before he replied. "It would seem that the part you picked out is more expensive than I anticipated."

"Again!" Bulma couldn't stop the irritation from rising in her voice. Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her, the snarl on his lips becoming more pronounced.

"I gave you a freaking diamond bracelet. You couldn't have spent all that on just food. What the hell did you do with our money?"

Vegeta's snarl turned into a growl as he stalked up to her. "Don't fucking start with me. We don't have enough money and that's that," he replied dangerously as he glared down at her.

"That's impossible. Those diamonds had to be worth more than what you traded them for. How could you be so stupid?" As soon as the words left her lips, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened with the knowledge that she had gone too far.

Vegeta moved so quickly that she only felt a whoosh of air before he was upon her. His hand snapped up to encircle her fragile neck, his fingers squeezing firmly, but not painfully. He lifted her up on her toes so he could hiss down into her face. Bulma wrapped her small hands around his thick wrists, knowing that she couldn't dislodge him, but desperately trying anyways.

"Your precious diamonds were no more than synthetic stones. Practically worthless," he spat.

Bulma's eyes widened with shock and her face paled. "That's not possible," she stuttered.

"Why? The genius woman, can't be fooled?" he asked sarcastically.

"No. My boyfriend gave it to me."

Tears began to well up in her eyes, and Vegeta shivered. Very slowly he released her so she could stand flat footed again. He was used to seeing women in tears; he had killed so many bawling females in his life that he lost count, but the last thing he wanted to see was this woman crying over another man. How repulsive.

He stayed near her, watching the fluctuating emotions that danced in her eyes. He knew what a boyfriend was, she had explained it to him once before. She had also told him that he had killed him during his battle on Earth. Something she claimed she would never forgive him for.

"Well, it seems that he placed very little value on the gifts he gave you."

"You don't understand. He told me that the bracelet was a symbol of his love for me, but if the jewels weren't real…" she trailed off and the sadness in her eyes intensified.

It didn't matter to her that Yamcha had bought her cubic zirconium instead of real diamonds. What mattered was that he lied to her. He told her that he had to save for months to buy the bracelet, and when she tried to return it, he told her that it was nothing compared to how much he valued her. She had been so touched by his thoughtful words and his gift.

Vegeta almost snickered at her pain. Obviously she had taken the male's words at face value, and now she was devastated by the truth of his lack of devotion to her. How easily she had been fooled. However, he was a little disgusted. He may be a bastard, but if he were to ever to give a woman jewels, they would at least be real. His pride would dictate no less.

Bulma sniffed slightly, and he gazed down at her eyes that danced like sapphires with unshed tears. Even in her distress she was bewitching, and Vegeta couldn't help to be drawn to her.

He leaned close to her, bracing his arm on the wooden shelf above her head to tower over her. He trapped her against the shelving, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim light. The world narrowed around them and Bulma was aware of the dull thudding of her blood rushing to her ears. How he managed to make her forget everything but his presence was always a surprise to her. With one small gesture he could dominate her world and turn her inside out.

"Bitchess," he whispered, and her whole body stood at attention at the softly spoken word. Her blood heated in her veins and her nipples grew taut at his nearness.

"When a man tells you he loves you what he is really saying is that he wants to get between your pretty little legs."

As he spoke he hooked one finger inside her low cut neckline, pulling her even closer to his overwhelming heat, and reveling more of her white flesh to him. An invisible string tightened around the base of her spine, urging her to arch her back so she could brush up against him. His hand trailed down between her breasts and over her flat stomach to rest between her thighs.

Unconsciously she shifted her legs apart, allowing him to cup her intimately. She inhaled sharply when she felt his fingers curl into her, pressing at her hollow entrance through her pants.

"No, it wasn't like that," she choked out, breathless at his touch. She wanted to pull away, but she was hypnotized by his voice, paralyzed by his touch.

He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, his hot breath feathering over her.

"Did you fuck him?"

"That's none of your---"

"Did you?" he cut her off, compelling her to answer.

She swallowed hard before answering. "Yes."

"And was it good?"

She paused, thinking back to that magical night. She had felt so much love for Yamcha that evening. She had wanted to give to him as much as he gave to her. She had wanted to worship him with her body before he went away to fight the newest threat to their world. It had been good, but she had sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be nearly as mind blowing as it would be with Vegeta.

"It was 'going away sex,' and 'great present sex', all in one."

"Then it sounds to me like he got exactly what he wanted with minimal cost to himself."

Vegeta moved closer to her, cupping his hands on her rear, and lifting her to her toes. He bent his knees, nestling himself between her thighs before standing. The hard bulge of his sex fitted perfectly into her, straining at the barrier of clothing. Bulma gasped at the sensation of him thrusting against her. Her head fell back against the shelving, and Vegeta immediately took advantage of her exposed throat, laying hot kisses against her pulse.

She settled her hands on his strong shoulders, absently kneading the tense muscles she found there. She wondered what it would be like to wrap her legs around his lean hips and have him thrust into her. She knew he wouldn't be gentle or loving, but he would fuck her with the intensity of an animal. She could almost hear her raw screams of pleasure ringing in her ears. The temptation to give into him was nearly overwhelming, but she fought it with last vestiges of her waning willpower.

"And what do I get?" Bulma barely managed to get the words out, before she moaned with longing. Her head was swimming with desire at his touch, but she valiantly fought for reason.

Vegeta licked his way to her ear, hardly paying any attention to her words.

"What?" he murmured against her throat as he reveled in the taste of her. She was creamy and smooth with just a hint of spice. He desperately wished now, that he had bought her a sackcloth, at the very least he could pull it up around her hips, and sink into her right then and there.

"What is my gift?"

Vegeta stilled against her before pulling back to stare down into her wide blue eyes. His eyes, stormy with lust, grew dark with anger as he looked at her. He could not believe the gall of woman, asking for presents as if they were her due. He should have known that her shallow affections could be bought with a few stones and pretty words.

"I have already gifted you with life. Twice, no less," he grit out.

"No. You granted me a stay of execution until such time that you kill me."

Vegeta dropped her to her feet, and moved away. He needed the distance to cool his blood so he could think. When he was touching her his thoughts were blinded by images of her spread out beneath him, panting his name. He turned his face away, looking at her from the corner of his eye, the veil of his thick lashes obscuring both his scorn and awe.

Perhaps she wasn't as cheap as he first thought. After all, there was nothing more precious than one's own life. That lesson had been beaten into him by Frieza at a young age. The woman may not be willing to kill for survival, but she wasn't above using her other skills, such as her formidable intelligence and beauty.

Bulma braced herself on the shelf, his sudden movement and burning touch left her legs unsteady, and she almost fell at his feet in a liquid puddle. She caught her breath, unable to breathe even though he had moved away. His very presence sucked the air from her world, leaving her dizzy and unbalanced.

"So that's it? A willing fuck in exchange for your life?"

Bulma blanched at his harsh words, shock and anger quickly overriding the desire that she still felt swimming in her veins.

"I never said that."

Vegeta curled his fists at his sides in an effort to contain himself. He wanted to close the distance between them and wrap his hands around her. The problem was that he didn't know if he wanted to wrap them around her throat or her hips.

"You implied it."

"Well, I would be stupid to sleep with my would-be killer now, wouldn't I?" Bulma sneered at him, thoroughly disgusted with both herself and him. How could she be aroused by a man who made it quite clear to her that he was going to kill her?

"You forget that I can take what I want."

She tensed at his words, fear shooting down her spine. Vegeta was strong, much stronger than her. If he chose to consummate their unnatural relationship, there was nothing that she could do about it. What worried her more was the feeling that she may not protest as much as she should.

"Taking is not the same as receiving."

Vegeta grit his teeth, and she could see the flash of his fangs under the pale light.

"You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met."

Bulma flashed him a brilliant smile, hiding her nervousness with lightheartedness that she didn't feel.

"And think, we are just getting started."

Vegeta snarled at her before turning on his heel to stalk away, his tail slashing angrily behind him.

Bulma stood there for a few seconds, catching her breath before darting after him. She felt immensely lucky to have survived two disastrous conversations in one day with the volatile Saiyan. She vowed to play it safe for the remainder of their visit to the colony.

Wisely, she followed behind him, making no effort to catch up. She knew he was mad at her, but she was mad too. Not only at him, but at Yamcha. She couldn't help but to feel betrayed by him. She knew the fact that the diamonds were fakes was inconsequential, but it still hurt. He had made such a big deal about how much money he had spent, and it had all been a lie. Vegeta's words rang true, and she shook her head in disgust.

Yamcha hadn't needed to put on such a big production to get her into bed. She was a sure thing. Maybe he got off more on manipulating her than just being with her. The poor desert bandit got something over on his too smart scientist girlfriend. She knew that she was probably being unfair, but she couldn't understand why he did it.

Vegeta was a total dick, but at least he was honest. He told her exactly what he planned to do with her and what he thought of her. As dangerous as he was, she didn't have to guess what he was going to do next. He wanted to fuck her, then kill her. He told her, upfront, pulling no punches. She was sure that he did it more to torture her than anything else.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn't stop in time before running smack into Vegeta's back. She looked around, slightly surprised that they had ended up in what seemed to be a local bar.

"Get a table." Vegeta motioned to the corner of the room, and Bulma quickly did as she was told. Being a genius, she knew when to sit down and shut up.

She took a seat and not three second later a rumpled looking male dropped into the chair next to her, accompanied by his friend who hung over his shoulder.

Bulma shook her head in awe, and leaned back in her chair, hooking her elbow over the back. She could tell that they were drunk, and that they had probably spent most of the day in the bar already. To her they were perfectly harmless, and she couldn't wait to hear what they had to say. She desperately wanted to know if the come-on lines in deep space were as cheesy as they were back on Earth.

The man leaned over the table towards her, bracing his jaw in his palm. "Do you have a star map? 'Cause I think I'm getting lost in your eyes."

Bulma looked at him for a few seconds, desperately trying to curb her lips into a disapproving line. She contained herself for as long as possible, but her laughter eventually burst out, bringing tears to her eyes. This was just what she needed to ease the tension between her shoulder blades, a good laugh at some clown's expense. His partner leaned further over his shoulder to join in.

"If you thought that was funny, wait until you hear this one. If beauty was sunlight, you would shine a million light years away."

Bulma covered her mouth in attempt to regain control. To be honest, their technique wasn't half bad. She was pretty entertained, and she was still sober. If she was drunk she would probably be falling over---right into their laps.

"So are you here with someone?"

Bulma was still laughing so hard that she couldn't do anything more than point. The two men turned around to find themselves, face to face with a furious Saiyan who had a drink in his hand.

One look at the deadly male and they instantly sobered. They muttered heartfelt apologies and slinked around Vegeta in opposite directions, their hands raised in submission. Vegeta didn't move except for a twitching in his jaw that almost made them pee their pants. They quickly scurried away and exited the bar, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste.

Vegeta's eyes flickered to Bulma who was still trying to muffle her laughter behind her hand. He had heard her peels of merriment all the way over at the bar, and it had sent waves of longing down his spine. He was caught between the disappointment that he wasn't the one making her laugh and anger that someone dare approach what was his. Watching her now, he was aware of a tingling at the base of his tail that he had never felt before. It was oddly pleasant.

He struggled to regain his anger at her, reminding himself that she was just a useless female that he had the misfortune to be attracted too. He slammed a purple colored drink in front of her, ignoring her squeak as it sloshed over the sides of the glass. He sat himself in a chair that faced the door, glaring at her from the corner of his eye.

"I can't understand how one woman can get into so much trouble in such a short time."

"Oh, Vegeta, I wasn't in trouble. They were just trying to be friendly." Bulma had composed herself, and now she was eyeing the drink he set in front of her.

"Every male in a twenty glick vicinity wants to get _friendly_ with you." Vegeta's brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. If Bulma didn't know better she would think that he was pouting.

"Well, I can't help it. I am drop-dead gorgeous." She fluffed her hair, smiling at him. Vegeta's eyes narrowed, but they didn't leave the door.

Bulma shrugged, and brought the drink to her lips to slowly sip it. The fruity flavor burst in her mouth and trickled down her throat.

"Oh, that's good! Thank you, Vegeta."

Vegeta's cold eyes flickered over to her before shooting back to the door. "For what?" he snapped.

"For getting me a drink and taking the time to choose something that I would like."

This time he turned his head towards her, his eyes clouded with confusion. Bulma's own brow furrowed as she looked back at him, uncertain why he was behaving so oddly.

"I didn't want to listen to you whine about being thirsty." He shot her one last glare before turning back towards the door. She was about to snap back at him when it occurred to her that he may be acting so oddly because no one had ever honestly thanked him before. He was a man who did things for a purpose, not because someone else would benefit from them, and he certainly didn't get thanked for his actions.

Bulma decided to let it pass, and concentrated on her next question instead.

"So what are we doing?"

"Waiting."

Bulma rolled her eyes, determined to remain calm.

"For what?"

"A man."

"Why?"

"Why do you ask so many fucking questions?" he snarled.

"I wouldn't ask so many questions if you would just come out and say what we are doing," she snapped back. Too late Bulma remembered her vow not to infuriate Vegeta.

"I'm waiting for a man who might have a job for me. Now shut the fuck up, and drink your nectar."

She sat back blinking at Vegeta. A job? Vegeta was looking for a job? What kind of job? True they needed money, but she couldn't image what kind of job Vegeta would do willingly. She opened her mouth to ask, but Vegeta shot out of his chair before she could say anything. He stalked up to a short man who had just walked in the door, leading him into a corner away from her.

"You're very pretty, and you're voice is exquisite."

Bulma rolled her eyes disbelievingly. Maybe Vegeta was right. She was built to attract trouble. She looked up at the slight, effeminate man who stood next to her.

"Look, mister, I don't mean to be rude, but if my friend sees you talking to me, he'll pound your ass."

The man glanced in Vegeta's direction, a sly smile playing on his soft lips. "Yes, I would pay well to have my ass pounded by him."

Bulma's cheeks heated up at his off-handed implication that he wanted to have sex with Vegeta. Secretly the thought of Vegeta pounding her rose up in her mind, adding more than embarrassment to her blush.

The man looked back down at her, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

"Actually I'm here for a business proposition. How would you like to make some money?"


	19. Dualism

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ nor do I own the song Em More from the Noir soundtrack.

A/N: The song in this chapter wasn't chosen for the words as much as for the melody. If you have a chance I suggest listening to it during the last half of the chapter as it is written to the in accord with the song.

Thanks so much to LisaB for her beta skills. I would be lost without her.

Chapter Nineteen

Dualism

"Do you even know anything about the man they want you to kill?"

Vegeta ignored Bulma as he continued to scan the star maps loaded into the navigational computer. He was trying to plot a more efficient course to Namek since they had lost so much time. Although he had already rechecked his figures several times, he did so once more, killing time before he had to leave the ship. He snorted under his breath at the irony.

At Vegeta's refusal to answer Bulma waved the printout she was holding under his nose, causing him to swat it away with a growl of irritation.

"Well I do."

Bulma had been flabbergasted when Vegeta had announced that he had found a way to make enough money for them to buy the expensive part that they needed. The man at the bar had offered Vegeta a job alright-to kill Akira Togeshi, the leader of the Ordani people and the newest threat to the organized crime families that ran the world they orbited. From what Bulma was able to glean, Akira was a good man. He believed in family, in freedom, and most importantly the sacredness of life. He was everything good, fighting against droves of evil to protect his own people. He didn't stand a chance against Vegeta though, and the criminals that hired him knew that.

Vegeta's cool demeanor hadn't even flinched when he told her that he would murder a man that he had never even met. In fact, he had seemed irrationally calm about the whole thing. She was used to seeing intense passion or anger glowing inside of him. He radiated heat from every pore in his body even when he was standing silently, watching her distantly. Never had she seen him this detached, this icy.

"Lets see…Akira Togeshi. Father and beloved husband. He has recently been elected as the leader of the Ordani Government. Apparently he is doing his part to clean up the criminal element on this world. Since he was been elected a year ago crime is down by a whopping twenty-six percent. Sounds like he's really cracking down. What do you think, Vegeta?"

"I think that it doesn't matter. Now shut the hell up." Vegeta shrugged her away and turned towards another console, trying to drown out her nasal voice that burned through his brain like acid.

"Of course it matters, Vegeta," she pleaded to his rigid back. "They want you to kill this guy because he's in their way. He's an innocent man, trying to do some good in his part of the universe. You can't murder an innocent man, Vegeta."

"It makes no difference who I kill. I hardly think that his perceived innocence is important. The money I'll get will be more than enough to purchase the parts that we need and then we can be on our way. I have business to take care of on Namek, and I'll not be delayed any longer."

"You don't have to commit murder, Vegeta." Bulma placed her small hand on his shoulder, and tried to turn him towards her, but he was unyielding. She would have better luck moving the ship by hand.

"It's not murder, its survival." A small shiver raced down her spine at his words. His entire existence had been about survival. He had never gone a day in his life where he had been secure…relaxed. _Happy._

"If I don't do it, then someone else will. He's a doomed man."

"Then let somebody else do it." Again she pulled on his arm, but he refused to look at her.

"Then we would be ass out of luck with no money, wouldn't we?" he growled.

Bulma stepped away, finally accepting that he wouldn't face her. "Not necessarily. I got a job offer."

Unexpectedly, her words did what her strength could not. Vegeta turned, his eyebrow cocked questioningly.

"Where?"

"The owner of the Scarlet Club offered me twenty thousand credits for one night of work."

"The sex club?" Vegeta's eyes widened with shock, and Bulma frowned at him, shrugging. Anger burst through him so violently that he thought that he would explode from the inside out. An emotion that he hadn't felt in decades rushed through his veins. Betrayal.

Such a nasty thing had become second nature to him over the years and to avoid it he had stopped trusting. He didn't trust his fellow soldiers, he didn't trust his men; he didn't even trust himself at times. He hadn't felt the sharp sting of betrayal in many years, but he recognized it. He knew exactly what it was, and he despised her for it.

Vegeta's black eyes narrowed dangerously, dropping the temperature in the room drastically. He prowled towards her, and Bulma's spine instantly stiffened. She had seen that look on his face before. He wore it on the day he destroyed her lab and killed all those men. The day that he nearly killed her. She backed up until her thighs hit a low sitting console. Vegeta continued to advance on her, leaning her back until he had to brace his arm to keep from touching her. He lifted his hand, and Bulma squeezed her eyes shut, certain that he was going to wring her neck. Instead she felt the soft brush of his fingers as they trailed up the pale column of her throat.

"So that's the way of it. It takes money and jewels to get between your legs, but for me…"

Bulma's eyes snapped open at his words, and she gasped in shock. "No, it's not like that."

He pinched her jaw between his fingers and thumb, locking the words in her throat. He wrenched her face close to his until she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. His eyes burned, and she could feel them searing into her skull, setting her afire.

"But from me, you ask the impossible," he hissed. His fiery eyes racked down her prone body, pausing at her arched breasts. Bulma felt fear, sharp and painful, stab her in the belly as the cold heat of his anger radiated off him in waves.

"You misunderstand," she choked out between her pursed lips. His eyes snapped back to hers, and she shivered at the hate she saw there.

"You little slut, I should take you here and now," he hissed between clenched teeth.

He gripped a fistful of her blue hair, hauling her up off the console so he could spin her around and drape her face first over it. He slammed her so hard against the metal frame that the air in her lungs rushed out between her lips in a huff. His strong hands pinned her hips tightly against the cold metal and she could feel his fingers slipping beneath the band of her pants to rip them off her.

"Stop Vegeta, you're hurting me," she whimpered as she struggled against him. She couldn't believe that he actually meant to do it. The thought that he was capable of hurting her in such a way had always lingered in the back of her mind, but she never fully accepted it.

Vegeta growled in frustration when he couldn't reach her fly, and pulled her up so that her back was braced against his chest. He reached around her slender waist, his fingers tearing at the strings that held her pants closed.

"Not as much as you will hurt after spreading your legs fifty times in one night." As he said the words, his body tensed as images of her pinned beneath other men swamped his mind. The arm that held her flexed against her stomach painfully, and she let out another whimper of fright and pain.

Finally he worked the knots of her ties free, and he yanked her pants down her wiggling hips.

"Please don't do this." Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes and stream down her face as the cold air licked around her bare buttocks. She fought harder, but she was no match for his superior strength and he held her effortlessly.

"Why? I want to taste you before every other male in the universe does." He cupped her mound, pushing his thick fingers between her dry folds. He groaned at the feeling of her tight heat, but he was left unsatisfied. She was as dry as blistering desert, her body tense and unwelcoming at his forceful intrusion.

"Please don't rape me, Vegeta." She whispered his name longingly. As if saying it would evoke a protector and not a monster. She ceased her worthless struggles, and instead wrapped her delicate hands around his thick wrist trying desperately to pull him away.

"It won't be," he breathed against her neck. He felt revolted by the word, and he couldn't force it between his own lips. His hard erection was jutting against her backbone, and he knew that he could take her at any moment, but her pain would be overwhelming. He tried to remember why he shouldn't care, but he couldn't.

"This is wrong." She refused to be lulled by his husky voice, and she clamped her thighs together more determinedly.

"It doesn't feel that way to me." He tried to force his way further into her, but her resistance slowed him. He gentled his touch, the old craving to have her writhing and willing beneath him surfacing to push away the haze of his anger.

"Please, it hurts. I don't want to be raped by you. Not by you." Her plaintive tone wound its way around his heart, squeezing it until he could barely breathe. She sounded so lost, so sad that he instantly wanted to hold her tight and protect her. It was a feeling that he had never felt for anyone before. The war that raged between his mind and heart nearly tore him apart.

"Stop saying that word," he bit out angrily. He didn't want to hear that word coming from her lips anymore. He didn't want to be in this room anymore. He wanted to be away from here, away from her, away from himself. How many times in the years had he wished that he could crawl out of his skin and escape his life? How many more times would he feel that way?

"Then stop doing it."

He spun her around violently, pushing her up against the console so that she was forced to sit bare-butted on the cold metal. He grabbed her by the shoulders shaking her without hurting her.

"Damn you. You're nothing but a little whore, but I can't do you in like I should," he spat.

Bulma looked up at him with big, wet eyes, trying not to flinch at the anger and hate that she saw brewing inside of him. What broke her heart the most was that it was directed inside, towards himself.

"Vegeta-"

"Just shut up. I'm going to do this job. If you leave this ship and let another male touch you then don't bother coming back, because I will kill you on sight. Do you understand me, Bulma?"

She nodded hesitantly, her heart breaking at the agony she saw inside of him. She reached out a trembling hand to rest it against his cheek. For just a second he closed his eyes, inhaling her scent deeply. She felt all of her fear of him flee at that one simple gesture from him.

"Stay with me. You don't have to do this. You don't have to kill," she whispered.

His black eyes opened to stare down at her. A sadness so thick that it nearly drowned her welled up inside of her chest as she looked up at him.

"It's what I do."

His hollow words echoed around her as he turned on his heel, striding from the room with sure confident steps that were at war with the despair she had glimpsed inside his eyes.

Bulma slid down the console, unable to stop the choking sobs that clawed their way up her throat and spilled out of her trembling mouth. She ignored the cold floor as she sat with her head braced on her knees as she cried not for herself, but for Vegeta-for the man he never got to be.

As Bulma moved to the center stage of the hottest nightclub on Omally Three she finally understood why they kept the air filtration so cool. There were so many people packed into the building that she instantly began to perspire as the temperature rose over ninety degrees. Her already flushed face bloomed as the hot stage lights focused on her, making it appear as though she glowed with immortal youth and beauty.

The black sequined sheath the club manager had loaned her rippled like velvet midnight under the spotlights and her rich blue hair was piled lavishly on top of her head. She bit her shiny red lip as she scanned the crowd, hopelessly looking for one set of brooding black eyes in the sea of hundreds that watched her.

Vegeta had stormed angrily from the ship an hour before while she lay crumpled on the floor, tears flooding her cheeks. She had begged him to stay with her, to refuse the job that was offered him, but he would not listen to her. She tried to tell him that he didn't have to do it. That he didn't have to kill for them. For her.

Minutes later she ventured from the ship, directly disobeying him. Sweat had slid down her back and pooled at the bottom of her spine with every step that took her further from the ship, but she couldn't force herself to turn around. She tried to tell herself that he wouldn't go through with it. That he wouldn't kill an innocent man. Deep in her heart she held the hope that he would turn back and seek her out at the club. She wanted him to see with his own eyes that she hadn't thought to betray him. She wanted to show him that she was capable of helping him along on his journey towards his destiny.

Bulma took her place on the stage, staring sightlessly out into the crowd. When she had told Vegeta that she had been offered a job as well, he had been enraged, mistakenly thinking that she meant to whore out her body. His error was easily understood as she looked out into the crowd to see scantily clad females serving the male customers. The Scarlet Club was the biggest sex club in two galaxies. She had tried to tell him that he was wrong, to explain what exactly the job offer was, but he refused to listen. His jealousy would have warmed her heart if his anger hadn't been so chilling, so fierce.

Bulma gripped the microphone like a life line and shifted her body so one pale thigh was revealed by the slit in her gown. She licked her lower lip nervously as the lights dimmed on the crowd until she was the only one standing in a halo of light. The people quieted as the stringed instruments began to strum the beginning of the tune she had shown the band earlier.

A single violin strummed, echoing in the silence. Bulma parted her lips and the sad strains of a foreign melody wafted through the crowd.

Wasurenaide ite kiresakareta ame

Akai yume o mita ano basho

Kaigara no naka ni kakushita ano kisu

Shizuku no mama nokotte iru yo

The crowd was instantly captured by the words that they didn't understand yet they pulled at them, quieting them, entrancing them. The beat of drums joined the lonely violin until the music swelled in the room.

_Vegeta raced down the shadowy hall, the surveillance cameras only capturing flashes of light due to his preternatural speed. His hard eyes scanned the immediate area as he reached out his senses to sweep the rooms beyond the thick walls for any movement. Satisfied that he was alone, he crept further down the hall to the next flight of stairs that would take him to the penthouse, and to his prey. _

_Distantly he heard the strains of music, and he tilted his head to the side as the melancholy notes drifted through his mind. He was instantly reminded of Bulma, and the tears that she shed for him before he cruelly left her on the floor. She had begged him to stay, to remain by her side, but he had abandoned her for his mission._

_She thought that he could change. That he could become something he was not. In her mind refusing to do this simple act would be the first step towards redeeming his soul. His anger boiled over at the thought. When would she realize that he had no soul? When would she start seeing him as he truly was? A monster that was fit to kill and destroy. She thought that he wanted a different life. She refused to believe that he could be satisfied with how he lived. She saw a life for him beyond his thirst for revenge, while Vegeta could only see his immediate destiny._

Kesanaide hoshii itami ni nita yume

Kotoba ni naranai kinou o

Kagami o waru you ni dakishime ni itte

Furuete ita sora o miyou

Nakitai koto ga ate mo toke wa shinaide

Yawarakasa ni aeru hi e oyogitsuzukeyou

Sadness swept through the crowd as Bulma sang. Even the strongest of men shuddered at the agony that reflected in her beautiful eyes. She grasped the microphone, bringing it closer to her lips as she made love to the lyrics.

Te o nobashite mite mou hitotsu no natsu

Shinobu you na netsu kanjite

Surechigatte kita hitomitachi no koto

Hitotsu hitotsu omoidashite

Bulma let her words die down so the strains of the violin could wash over the crowd. She swayed to the music, closing her eyes as she pictured Vegeta's tortured features clearly in her mind.

_Vegeta climbed the stairway, well aware that two guards stood at the top. He flashed between them, and before they could react to his presence they fell at his feet unconscious. He paused, glaring down at them, wondering distantly why they were still alive and not dead as they should be. At the last moment he had pulled his strength, choosing to let them live instead of snapping their fragile necks._

The violin died away, and Bulma's words echo across Vegeta's mind.

Ikenai koto o shitte mo nige wa shinaide

Itoshisa ni fureru gogo o sagashitsuzukeyou

_His distraction allowed a man to sneak around the corner to level a gun at him. Vegeta heard the report before he saw the bullet that was hurdling towards him. To him the projectile was barely moving, swimming through molasses, and he watched it in wonderment before stepping aside to avoid it. The plaster near his head exploded as the bullet tunneled into the wall at high velocity. _

_The beat picked up in rhythm to Vegeta's heart as he advanced on his foes._

_Vegeta's eyes narrowed and he sped down the hall, wrenching the gun away from the fearful man. His scream of terror and pain echoed down the long corridor, alerting others to Vegeta's presence._

_Vegeta fought his way through the throng of men easily, dropping the unconscious bodies to the ground without a second look. He reached the door leading to Akira's office and as he reached for the handle he felt a wave of longing wash through him. He shuddered as he looked back at the trail of groaning men he had left behind, again wondering why they weren't dead. He hardened his resolve and straightened his spine as he opened the door to reveal the man inside the darkened room._

Kanashii koto ga ate mo yurenaide ite

Yasahisa ni aeru hi made oyogitsuzukeyou

_Akira Togeshi sat silently behind his wooden desk, his hands folded respectfully in front of him. He met Vegeta gaze steadily, refusing to flinch, to proud to beg. Vegeta stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him._

Bulma's words died away and all that was left was the sad strains of the violin.

_Vegeta tore the unresisting man from his seat, laying him back over his desk with one hand at his throat. A blue ball of ki formed in his fist that hovered inches above Akira's stoic face. In the depths of his eyes, Vegeta could see fear, but beyond that he saw acceptance, the inevitability of his death. Vegeta's gaze flickered away, unable to stare into the man's eyes without seeing his own feral reflection. To the side, Vegeta glanced at a photograph of Akira with his family, a wife and daughter. His grip tightened on the man's throat, slowly choking the life from him. Vegeta's lips peeled back from his sharp fangs, and his ki glowed brighter, casting the only light in the dark room. Shadows writhed around them, waiting for the killing blow._

The crowd stared silently at the exotic blue hair woman who fell silent as the notes drifted down around her. She raised her eyes to them, and they shifted in awe at the sight of the crystal tears that flowed down her pale cheeks and over her sleek lips. She scanned the crowd, looking for something and from the heartbreak that was etched on her face before she fled the stage, she did not find it. To those who watched, it was apparent that her happiness was as elusive as a fairy tale wish upon a shooting star.

Translation:

Please don't forget in the flourishing, cutting rain

In that place, I dreamed red dreams

Inside a shell A stolen kiss

Constant dripping I am remaining

I don't want to be erased, this dream is like pain

I can't find the words to say tomorrow,

Like breaking a mirror, I will embrace it

Let us look into the trembling sky

Even though I should want to cry, don't dissolve away

Till the day we see softness, let's keep on swimming

Reach out your arms and see Another summer

Pain like endurance… I can feel it

Everything changes And those many eyes…

One thing, one thing, I remember

Even though I know bad things, don't try to escape

Let's keep seeking out the day we see love

Even though I am sad, don't sway

Until the day we see gentleness, let's keep on swimming


	20. Surrender

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the sexy men that flit across my dreams.

Please note that this story has been edited to fit fanfiction guidlines. If you wish to view the full chapter and you are of age please view my website which can be found on my bio or go to under the pen name temptingtemptation.

All my thanks to LisaB for the beta. Isn't she lucky? She gets to read all the good stuff first.

Chapter Twenty

Surrender

Bulma waited for Vegeta's return in the safety of her quarters, anticipation and dread drumming inside of her. She felt him before she saw him, a crackling in the air heralding his arrival. His aura was snapping and seething, standing the small hairs on the back of her neck on end.

He burst through the door in a rage, sweeping her off her feet and pinning her to the far wall effortlessly. His feral eyes were alive with self doubt and despair. He scowled darkly down at her, his full lips compressed into a straight line.

"What have you done to me? First you cage my body, and now you have ensnared my mind."

He pressed closer, his lean body sinking into her softer one. His greater weight trapped her fully, giving her no chance to struggle.

"I can't escape you," he whispered into her ear.

Bulma placed her hands against his solid chest. An empty gesture meant to defend herself, but the feel of his rapid heartbeat under her palm was the real enticement. With every thud, she felt more connected to Vegeta. She saw him as a man, not as a monster.

"Did you kill him?" Her whispered question lingered between them. It was an invisible wall that would not be breached, but it could be circumvented.

"Perhaps if I kill you instead, I will be free," he growled as he wrapped his strong, battle-scarred hand around her slender neck. She leaned her head back against the steel wall, exposing her throat in surrender, her breathing rapid and shallow.

His reply, though deadly, warmed her heart. It was like the lighting of a candle in the deepest night. She saw beyond the threat to what he was trying to hide. He had not killed the man, and for that she would pay. She wasn't afraid though. Her life was already forfeit to Vegeta, but in return she would claim something of his. A small piece of his reawakened soul.

"If you kill me, you will only be alone."

Vegeta glared down at her, bitterness welling up inside of him at the sight of her calm features. He hated her and yet he lusted after her. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to absorb her until she was apart of him. His desire for her was like an itch under his skin. He couldn't quite reach it, but it tormented him day and night.

"Maybe if I take you, I can be free of this obsession."

His other hand glided down her ribs and over her round hip to grasp the underside of her thigh. His touch was gentler than it had been before, darkly sensual and arousing. He watched her pulse flutter, and he felt a spark of victory that he could affect her so, especially after their last encounter. He pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist, his tail curling around her knee to hold her in place.

"Maybe I can break the spell you cast, witch."

His voice was rough with passion, almost desperate. He thrust his groin into hers, sliding his hard length against her softness. Bulma arched into him, inviting his masterful intrusion to her space. The fear that she had felt for him had been fleeting. She knew now that if hadn't taken her by force in the control room then he never would.

She wanted him with a desperation she had never felt before. Sometime between fearing him and fearing for him she had fallen into lust with him. Perhaps if she looked into the darkest part of her heart, she might find something more than just animal attraction, but she wasn't ready to admit that just yet. She finally gave into the longings of her body and forsook the murmurings of her conscious. A part of her knew it was wrong to be so willing to be touched by the man who would have murdered her world, a man who vowed to take her life with his bare hands, but she couldn't deny herself any longer.

She looked up at him with large trusting eyes, spearing him through his long dead heart.

"You don't have to take me Vegeta. I will give myself freely in return for a promise." Her voice wrapped its way around him, binding him to her, coaxing him to give her anything.

"A promise that I won't kill you?" he snarled.

He was unable to meet her gaze so he buried his face in to the crook of her neck inhaling her scent deeply. He didn't want her to see the doubt in his eyes. As a boy he had been given everything, but as a man he had to fight for the smallest shred of dignity. To survive, he had committed atrocities that had condemned his soul to the deepest pits of hell. He knew that he could perform the vilest of acts without remorse, but for split second he couldn't imagine wrapping his hands around her neck and callously watching her special spark of life that warmed his cold soul dim and die.

"No. A promise that you will allow yourself to feel happiness while making love to me."

Vegeta felt something raw and powerful rip down his spine at her words. It wound its way around his heart, breathing life into it once again. His tail tightened on her thigh, pulling her deeper into his embrace, and his already pulsing erection stiffened painfully.

"I fuck; I do not make love," he protested, desperately trying to ignore the warm feeling that was spreading through his chest.

"You fuck space trash, Vegeta," Bulma hissed, and then she leaned close, whispering into his ear, while running her nails down the curve of his back.

"Make love to _me_."

Vegeta growled deep in the back of his throat. A raw, hungry sound, full of wanting and need. His hot mouth latched on to her neck, his wet tongue sliding possessively over her pulse. He could feel her heartbeat on his tongue, and he felt a rush of pride. Her life belonged to him. Her heart beat because he allowed it. He owned her, yet he couldn't get over the lingering sense of unease that he had traded something far more valuable in return.

Bulma wound her arms around Vegeta's neck, thrusting her fingers into his thick hair. Her head fell back against the wall, her lips curling into a secretive smile. Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the starlight that streamed through the porthole above Vegeta's head as he ravaged her neck. He may own her body, but she was so much closer to owning his heart.

**This has been cut due to fanfiction guidlines.**

Vegeta pillowed his head on Bulma's soft breast, listening as her heart beat slowed. His tail flicked contently around her thighs as he enjoyed the feel of her fingertips tracing his spine.

Bulma smiled as she cradled Vegeta's body in hers. She felt happiness well up inside of her until she thought she must be glowing from the inside out. Vegeta's weight began to press down on her and she shifted subtly. Her eyes widened when she felt Vegeta stir inside of her, his spent shaft thickening.

Vegeta raised his head, smiling down at her with a self satisfied smirk that she couldn't help but to return. He rolled away, easily pulling her with him so she landed on his solid chest. He moved fluidly, keeping himself wedged tightly inside of her.

She looked own at him, stunned at the change in his appearance. His face had softened around the edges, his lips were fuller, and the lines of worry on his brow less deep. She absently traced her fingers along the curve of his jaw, drinking in the sight of him.

"Are you happy?"

Vegeta's eyes darkened at her question. The look she was giving him made him uncomfortable. It almost seemed like she was seeing a whole new person. In a way he liked it. It made him feel like he could become someone different, someone better.

Deep inside he could feel a foreign warmth where before there had only been coldness. For a moment he thought that it must be happiness because he had never felt it before, but he pushed it ruthlessly away. He knew better than to indulge in such a thing.

He opened his mouth, but her trusting gaze stalled the lie forming in his throat. Instead of a vehement denial passing by his lips, a mortifying truth escaped.

"Maybe."

Bulma smiled down at him, her teal hair framing her face and shining like a halo around her head. She leaned forward capturing his lips in a soft kiss that burned his withered soul.


	21. Holey Hell

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

Thanks to LisaB for her beta skills.

Chapter Twenty-One

Holey Hell

"You lying, little bitch!" Vegeta snarled in Bulma's direction.

She was frantically double checking her coordinates, her spine tingling with dread. It had taken hours of nearly talking herself hoarse before she convinced Vegeta she hadn't whored herself out at the Scarlet Club. He was certain, given her prior performance caterwauling to the "80's," that she couldn't sing worth a damn. Finally, it took a threatening visit to the club owner, and a private audition from her to prove that she had remained true to him and herself.

Next it had taken some fancy silver-tongued talking to assure him that leaving Togeshi alive did not make him a fool. He was unreasonably angry that she was the one that secured the money they needed, not him. She didn't fully understand how he could be more than willing to take her jewels, yet her having to perform for cash enraged him. He eventually cooled down and stopped yelling at her, but she could tell he was still angry. She could only surmise that somehow his male pride had taken a hit, and like every other man, he had to blame someone.

She would like to say it was all male pride, but there was something else. Something about his abandoned assassination that disturbed him. She couldn't put her finger on it, but he was different, changed somehow, and he was struggling within himself to come to terms with it. That was the true core of his anger. It was almost like he felt he was in danger, like he had taken the first step down a path that could only mean his complete and total destruction.

Since then they had lived with an uneasy truce. She didn't mention anything to do with Earth or her past life, and he didn't say anything more about killing her. That didn't mean that those heavy thoughts weren't pressing down on them. She could see the strain inside Vegeta every waking moment, and for her it plagued even her dreams. But the stress seemed to add an intensity to their relationship that she had never felt before.

When Vegeta touched her it felt like he set her world on fire. At odd moments in the day he would track her through the ship, room to room, until he found her. He would pin her to the spot with his glowing black eyes, paralyzing her moments before he pounced. He would drag her to the floor or press her against the nearest wall, fucking her like there was nothing else to live for except the taste of her flesh and the feel of her insides. He came at her like he wanted to devour her, and she acquiesced every time. Not out of fear, but out something deeper, more primal. She would tip her head back baring her slender throat to the beast inside of him, beckoning him to do his worse, knowing that he wouldn't.

She lived in a state of hyper-sensation. Every shiver was ecstasy, and his every touch was bliss. She could feel him the moment his thoughts turned to her. Dark and foreboding. Sensual and poignant. He was like a raging summer storm that moved through the ship, seeking her--- his human lightning rod. She was so attuned to him that she could feel his emotions lay on her skin like a gossamer cloak, sometimes hot and heavy, other times breathless and airy. But at the moment it felt like hot rivers of lava streaming towards an innocent village.

"I should have known that I couldn't trust you. You're nothing but a classless whore who would do and say anything to save her skin." Vegeta slammed his fist into the consol causing Bulma to jump away from the brightly colored sparks.

"No, Vegeta. I swear this is the right place. Namek should be here." Bulma pointed to the view screen, complete despair and confusion written on her face.

"All I see is space dust."

Vegeta was right. Bulma stared helplessly at the large cloud of dust that hung in space. Where there should have been a planet, there were only clods of dirt. The screen wavered, and Bulma blinked certain that her eyes were tearing. She blinked again when it didn't go away.

"Vegeta, what is that?"

"Don't try to change the subject, woman."

"No, Vegeta. What is that?" Bulma repeated with earnest, pointing to the screen again.

Vegeta turned in time to see a shape take form out of the dust, revealing the curved proportions of a very large ship.

"Fuck," Vegeta sneered with real dread.

"Fuck, what?" Bulma asked with a sinking stomach. When he didn't reply she asked again.

"Fuck, what, Vegeta?"

"It's King Cold's flag ship," Vegeta replied half-heartedly as he ran scenarios through his head. This was bad. So very bad.

"Who?" The look on Vegeta's face was terrifying her. The last few weeks she had been privy to a half a dozen facial expressions from Vegeta, raging from anger to lust, but it was when he was completely devoid of emotion that he scared her. It meant he was shutting down, turning off and going to autopilot so he could deal with his constantly traumatic life.

When he didn't respond she reached out to touch his arm, shivering at how cold he was.

"Vegeta?" she prompted.

"King Cold is Frieza's father. There is no reason for him to be here unless there is trouble. Big trouble," he muttered.

"Should we run?" Bulma was already looking at the navigational controls.

"Too late," he said hollowly, causing her dread to stampede straight into panic.

A warning buzzer went off, and the lights blinked on the security panel. Before she could check it out the ship heaved forward nearly knocking her off her feet. Vegeta caught her, pulling her close to the security of his wide chest, wrapping his tail around her waist.

"They're pulling us in." Before she could respond he gripped her upper arms forcing her to stare up at him.

"Bulma, it's very important that you do exactly as I say. You must behave like a proper slave. Always walk behind me, keep your head down, and whatever you do, _do not speak_. Do you understand me?"

Vegeta rarely, if ever, used her name. He always referred to her as _woman,_ and when mad, as _whore._ She swallowed hard, nodding. He stared deep into her eyes, looking into her mind, making certain she truly understood.

They were in danger, deep, mortal danger.

He was already wanted by the Empire for his disappearance. If he failed to convince the King of his loyalty then he would be labeled as a traitor. At best, he would be executed, at worse he would endure years of torture, either way it would leave Bulma unprotected.

Vegeta stared down at her upturned face and wondered at the tug he felt in his chest. He warred with himself. He wanted to counsel her to commit suicide if anything were to happen to him. It would be a far kinder fate than finding herself in the hands of the King Cold or his lackeys. He opened his mouth, but the words couldn't seem to make it passed the clog in his throat. The thought of her dead chilled his blood. He tried to remember his life before they had met, but all he could see was a whirlwind of death and chaos.

His grip on her upper arms tightened as he tried to imagine his life without her. His mind condemned his half-dead heart. Such thoughts were ridiculous. He would continue as he always had. A forgotten prince, a lonely soldier. A killer for the Empire.

Her eyes darkened in question, but before he could say anything the ship docked, signaling that they were out of time.

Vegeta released Bulma, barely able to coax his tail away. He turned towards the door, straightening his spine. The wayward sparkle in his eyes died and cold steel melted over his face, freezing it into an emotionless mask. The tug in his chest disappeared, and the emptiness of his soul returned as he stepped through the door to make his way to the outer hatch to greet Cold's troops.

Bulma walked in silence behind Vegeta. Even though they merely walked along a corridor, the advanced technology of the ship was evident everywhere she looked. She should have been bubbling with excitement, but Vegeta's grave warning and the icy dread in his eyes spread fear through every inch of her body.

She looked around expecting to see bloody bits of bodies on the floor and soldiers fornicating in the halls. Vegeta reaction told her that he considered this ship to be a floating hell, suspended in time, never changing, always tormenting, but the cleanliness surprised her. The inhabitants moved passed them unspeaking, running smoothly like mechanoids, completely unemotional. It was not the hell that she had imagined, and that only made her fear multiply.

Four men in white uniforms with deep purple mantles escorted them through the ship, eventually leading them to a set of doors.

"Your rooms, Prince Vegeta. I trust you will find everything in order. There should be a set of formal armor as well. King Cold wishes to see you immediately."

The guard stepped to the side, sweeping his arm in a welcoming motion, but the smile on his face was anything but. Cold chills ran down her insides, and Bulma instantly dropped her gaze as she scurried behind Vegeta.

The guards waited outside as they entered the room. Vegeta wasted no time crossing the room to disappear behind another door. Bulma glanced around, taking in her lush surroundings. The sitting room was carpeted with a plush cream rug that beckoned her to take off her shoes and sink her toes into. In the center were a set of deep off-white couches and chair, surrounding a beautiful coffee table made of some mysterious white wood she had never seen before. To the side was a well stocked bar, and several trinkets decorated the room, making it seem quite cozy. It had everything one would need to entertain. It was definitely not how she imagined Vegeta's room being.

The door opened and Vegeta walked through, nearly stealing her breath. He was dressed in pearl white armor that shimmered as he moved. It was slashed with red, and draped over his shoulder a crimson cape fell in waves nearly to the floor. The gleam of the armor contrasted with his tanned skin, making him look exotic and impossibly, even deadlier. He held himself with a regal air that screamed royalty.

He would be breathtaking if it wasn't for the stone-cold mask that shaped his features. He was unquestionably royal, none other than the prince of death.

Vegeta stalked up to her, gazing down at her and for a moment Bulma thought she saw a flicker of emotion behind his frozen façade.

"You will stay in here. Do not leave, and do not open the door for anyone but me."

"Is really as dangerous as that?" His dire warning seemed unreasonable now that she had seen the orderliness of the ship.

"Yes." The one word reply was solemn, convincing her of the truth of it. Whether or not she could see it, danger lurked just outside the door, and she had no wish to invite it in. She nodded her head in acceptance, and without another word he left. As the door closed behind him, she caught a glimpse of one of the guards leering into the room. She shuddered at the knowledge that she was on a ship filled with monsters, and she had to rely on one of their own to keep her safe.

Vegeta entered the conference room stoically. Across the room a bank of windows revealed the black velvet of space that was densely studded with stars. Amidst the stars, like a blot of gravy on a pristine table cloth, was a gathering of brown dust and clods of dirt. He still couldn't believe that Bulma had led him astray, and worse they had run smack into the person he least wanted to see, King Cold.

He slit his eyes, his pupils dilating until he could eventually see two shadows outlined against the starlight. The two forms stepped forward, and Vegeta hid his surprise. King Cold he expected, Cooler, his first born son, maybe, but mostly Vegeta had been sure that Frieza would be present. However he was conspicuously absent.

Vegeta's dread began to boil in his stomach, and he had to force himself not to shift his weight nervously. No matter how much he hated his lizard master, there was always a sense of security while in his presence. Vegeta constantly pushed the limit with Frieza, defying him at every turn, taunting him with his unbroken pride, but in the end he was always forgiven. It disgusted Vegeta, turned his stomach, but he knew that the lizard favored him, and he exploited that knowledge unashamedly. Even with the sin of desertion lingering over his head, Vegeta had walked into this room confident that he would be punished, and eventually forgiven, but now…now he may not walk away at all.

Vegeta bowed before the royals, just barely meeting the standard for civility. King Cold's upper lip curled upwards into a mocking smile while Cooler merely sneered.

"Ahh, Prince Vegeta, it has been too long." Frieza rarely visited his father, the responsibility of running his own domain keeping him much too busy. However, when Vegeta was younger he had often visited this ship, hence his rooms and a set of armor.

"Last Mayson, I believe." Mayson was a religious holiday that was celebrated every ten years by the Ice-jinn. Vegeta eyes flickered over to Cooler while he spoke, taking in the hint of excitement that Cooler couldn't quite hide behind his cold reptilian eyes. Although he was older, he was still leashed to his father's side. Unlike Frieza, he was too stupid to rule on his own and was never granted his own domain. He was jealous and bitter, and he was Frieza's worst enemy, King Cold's too, if Cooler ever became powerful enough to usurp his father.

Vegeta didn't answer; instead he waited to see what they would reveal to him.

"You've been away for quite some time. I know my son has missed his darling monkey."

Vegeta tailed curled tighter around his waist at the insulting nickname. "Where is Lord Frieza? I must speak to him."

"He's indisposed right now."

"Yes, so tragic." Cooler practically purred, and trepidation knifed down Vegeta spine at his tone.

King Cold shot a chastising look at his eldest son, before turning back to speak to Vegeta. "Whatever you have to say you can say to me."

Vegeta knew his best hope for salvation lay in convincing his master that he hadn't deserted him, but how could he do that if he could not speak to him?

"My words are for Lord Frieza alone."

"Sweet nothings?" Cooler snickered, causing Vegeta's fur to stiffen on his tail as he snarled at the lizard.

"I'm his father; we share everything," Cold cooed, setting Vegeta's teeth on edge.

"I don't think so. I demand to be taken to Frieza," Vegeta spat.

King Cold slammed the goblet he had been holding down, nearly shattering it on the sideboard.

"Listen up, you little runt. Frieza may be your master, but you seemed to have forgotten that I am Lord here. You have been missing for nearly two years. You have some explaining to do, starting with the completion of the purge on Anodes."

Had it been so long? Vegeta wondered. Everything seemed to have passed so quickly. It had taken a year just to get to Earth. How long had he been held captive by his witch? Six months, seven? How many months had they taken to get to Namek? How many weeks had he wallowed in the luxury of her arms, tasting her sweet skin, relishing her every cry? Vegeta shook his head, concentrating on the here and now. Trapped, Vegeta had no choice but to try and convince the King of the Ice-jinns that he was no traitor. His only hope was that Cold could not see into his darkest heart, where rebellion lived and breathed.

"Raditz came to me before we left for Anodes. He told me that there was a chance that his brother was still alive. He asked permission to collect him, to add his strength to Frieza's army." A bald face lie, but they really couldn't prove differently now that Raditz was dead. Vegeta had sent his bodyguard to Earth with the intention of secreting Kakarot away until the time that they needed him to defeat Frieza. How quickly that plan had gone to hell in a handbasket.

"And you sent him without permission from Frieza?"

Vegeta had to choose his words carefully. Frieza was notorious for his eccentric ways. He would micromanage the tiniest thing and yet completely dismiss large purges. Mostly Zarbon, his second, took care of the details, while Frieza gorged himself on the fruits of his soldier's labors.

"Lord Frieza could not be bothered with the details of a petty mission."

"His soldiers being sent out to roam freely throughout the universe to recruit new soldiers does not sound petty to me."

Vegeta was unable to contain his disgusted look. If Frieza was here he wouldn't have to concern himself with such small details, but as it was he had to explain _everything_.

"Firstly, we are never _free_ to roam anywhere. Secondly, Raditz is a third class warrior conducting a fruitless search for another third class warrior. Raditz was insignificant to both me and Frieza."

"If you were sure the search would be fruitless, why send him?"

Vegeta snorted. "Its obvious you never spent any time with the idiot. I've had more enlightening conversations with the rock golems of Tembra. Not to mention he was worse than a hyper two year old. I was glad to be rid of him."

King Cold rolled his eyes seeming to accept Vegeta's explanation. Vegeta's anti-social ways were well known, and it wasn't unthinkable that he would send one his men on a wild goose chase just to be rid of him for awhile.

"Then what happened?"

"It was after the purge on Anodes. We were sitting at our camp when Raditz's voice came over the scouter. We listened to his last words as he died."

When Vegeta didn't say more King Cold prompted him. "And those were?"

"Just the coordinates of the planet he was on and the name of his killer."

"What was the planet's name?"

There was something about the look in Cold's eye that made Vegeta nervous. He made a snap decision to lie, not knowing why, but instinct told him that revealing the name of the planet would be death.

"I don't know."

King Cold looked unconvinced, but he let it pass. "And the name of the killer?"

"Kakarot, his brother." Genuine surprise showed on King Cold's face at Vegeta's response.

"He was killed by his own brother?" Cooler asked, just as surprised and a little awed.

Vegeta shrugged, knowing that they really didn't require him to repeat himself.

"Of course, you were upset about the death of your teammate."

It was a trap. Everyone knew that he would never be upset about something so trivial. Trivial to _him,_ at least. They wanted to see if he would take the out. They wanted to catch him in something, but Vegeta wasn't sure what it was yet.

"I could care less about that pathetic excuse of a warrior," Vegeta sneered. "However, I couldn't let his death go unpunished."

King Cold and Cooler nodded their head in understanding. Whether or not Raditz was important didn't matter. What was important was that no one raised their fist against a warrior of the Empire without punishment. They suspected that it was more personal for Vegeta. By killing his man, Kakarot was declaring disrespect for the prince, and that would not be born by some as prideful as Vegeta.

"And when you landed?" Cold questioned.

"We engaged some of the enemy warriors."

"Some?"

"They kept saying that some hero would be coming." The voice of instinct clamored again, warning him to hide Kakarot's human name.

"What happened to Nappa?" Cooler broke in, earning him a glare from his father.

Vegeta had suspected for some time that Nappa was spying on him. Blood and birthright only gained him so much loyalty. Living in Frieza's court stripped away everything you had. Honor, loyalty, morality and left you with only one thing. An instinct to survive. Vegeta now realized that Nappa had been working for Cooler. He should have known. Stupid sticks to stupid.

"He was a fool. He let his guard down, and one of the enemy warriors blew him to bits."

Vegeta knew better than to confess that Nappa had survived, and he had taken the opportunity to rid himself of spy. Better to let them think that he fell in battle. There was no way for them to know differently.

"A Saiyan was blown to bits?" Cooler asked incredulously.

"The enemy sacrificed his own life force to kill Nappa. It was total self destruction."

Silence echoed in the room as the Ice-jinn digested that piece of information. The power of self sacrifice was well documented throughout the universe. It was a rare event, usually brought on by strong emotions to protect those the warrior loved. Every soldier dreaded encountering such a warrior, and every purge was preceded by silent prayers not to meet such a warrior that day.

King Cold dismissed the silence with a wave of his hand. "And then?"

"Kakarot came."

King Cold and Cooler waited expectantly for Vegeta to finish. To tell the truth would sacrifice his pride, to lie could mean his death. Vegeta warred within himself, almost convincing himself that sacrificing his pride was not worth it. He took a deep breath ready to condemn himself when the floral scent of Bulma filled his nostrils. Although he had changed his clothes her scent still covered his skin, just as her body had covered his earlier that day.

"We fought. It was a glorious battle. I tasted my enemy's blood, and victory pounded through my veins."

"But?"

Vegeta opened his mouth to lie. He readied himself for the killing blow, knowing that no lie he could concoct would be convincing. There would be no way he could explain away his lengthy absence unless he told the truth, the sickening, pride-killing truth.

"A coward hiding among the rocks attacked my back, infecting me with a virus that leached my ki away like a hungry parasite."

Vegeta couldn't believe the words that poured out of his mouth. He could feel his pride wilting with every breath he took.

King Cold and Cooler exchanged looks of disgust. Only weaklings used ki-draining techniques to defeat their enemies, and only pathetic bastards fell for their tactics.

"When I awoke, I was caged and powerless. It took me months to escape, and just as long to find my way here, to Frieza."

King Cold stared at Vegeta for the longest time, searching his emotionless face for a flicker of anything, but all he saw was cold defiance.

"I see. What you say must be true. I can not imagine you telling such a tale, unless it was so." King Cold's face was filled with distaste, and Vegeta felt his pride cry out in protest. Why had he not lied? Now King Cold thought he was nothing more than a worm to be stepped on. All his years of proving himself went down the drain. No doubt the king would counsel his son to put his favorite pet out of his misery.

"So your disappearance wasn't a mutiny. You were merely detained?"

"That is correct." Vegeta felt all his strength drain away. He wanted no more than to find a corner to lie down and die.

"So you are loyal to the empire?"

"Of course." Vegeta could barely speak with the taste of ash in his mouth.

The door to the conference room slid open, and a man wearing a blue coat identifying him as being from the medical unit, stood silently waiting for King Cold to acknowledge him.

With a nod, the king stepped away, leaving Vegeta and Cooler to stare at each other.

"Where's Frieza?" Vegeta knew that Cooler would answer him. There was something about he set of his shoulders and the gleam in his eyes that told Vegeta that he couldn't wait to relay the news.

"Haven't you heard? My dear brother got himself in a spot of trouble on the planet."

"Planet?"

"Yes, all that dust floating around used to be Namek. Now I'm afraid it's just a footnote in the tale of an epic battle."

So Bulma had been right. She had taken him to Namek just as she promised.

"Battle? What the hell is going on?"

Cooler chuckled in delight. There was nothing he liked more than a little gossip, especially if it involved the disgrace of his brother.

"What's the matter, Vegeta? Didn't you get your news updates while you were playing prison rat to an inferior race?"

Vegeta sneered, but didn't bother to answer; he knew that Cooler would spill the news without anymore prompting from him.

"Anyways, it seems that Frieza met his match. He destroyed the entire planet in order to annihilate his foe. We picked him up floating in space a few hours ago. It's a good thing he sent two of his men after us before the fight or we might not have gotten to him in time." The bitterness in his voice was evident, and Vegeta couldn't help but to smile coldly at his despair. Cooler had been so close to becoming number one in his father's eyes, only to be shot down by Frieza's foresight.

"He's alive then?"

"For now. He was badly…damaged. He hasn't gained consciousness yet." Vegeta had not doubt that Cooler was already working on a way to make sure that Frieza never did, but that wasn't his concern. What he really needed to know was who beat Frieza so badly. He would make a magnificent alley or a deadly enemy.

"I'm sure he'll be sleeping for a while," Vegeta fished for more information.

"Not if Father has anything to say about it," Cooler responded sullenly.

"Why?"

"Father is certain that Frieza won the battle, after all he's his son, but he is anxious to find out who wounded his precious baby boy so he can go to his planet, and punish the entire race along with anyone who may have had anything to do with this."

Vegeta's instincts were screaming in warning again. Something wasn't right. Kakarot couldn't have possibly been strong enough to defeat Frieza. It had to be a different warrior. One from Namek perhaps. Dread tingled down his spine, and all the spit dried up in his mouth.

"Didn't the two soldiers that contacted you know?"

"Who? Zarbon and that pink slob? They had no idea." Cooler sounded unconvincing. He was hiding something. Not only from Vegeta, but also from his father. He was playing a dangerous game, and Vegeta feared that he was caught in the middle.

King Cold walked away from the doctor, an angry set to his brows. "So we are clear, Vegeta, why don't you start from the beginning again?"

From the look on Cold's face he dared not disobey. He took a deep breath and started again.

No sooner had Vegeta left, did Bulma start poking around. She was on her third drawer, her back to the door when a green-skinned man entered. As noiseless as a silent film he crept up behind her, clamping his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams.

Quickly and quietly he dragged her from the room, and like that she was gone, the only hint of her presence was a lonely open drawer.

He took her to the bowels of the ship in utter silence, never speaking, barely even breathing heavy, though she struggled violently. It wasn't until they reached their destination that the noise began. They forced her to kneel before them as they asked her questions, and when she refused to answer, she screamed bright beams of light.

Zarbon entered the room, and Cooler hurried over to speak with him. Vegeta watched them with narrowed eyes, but he couldn't make out the words.

"Well, it seems that we are done here." Vegeta wrenched his attention back King Cold as he spoke. "You can go back to your rooms now."

Vegeta sketched out a bow and swallowed to soothe his dry throat. It had been years since he had to speak so much, and he was unused to such activity.

As he neared the door, Cooler stopped him. "It seems that your woman confirmed your story. At least some parts. Apparently she wasn't present during Nappa's death, though we probed quite thoroughly."

Vegeta looked up sharply, noticing Cooler's sly sneer and Zarbon's easy smile. Zarbon only got that look after he tortured someone. It relaxed him. _It was better than sex_, he said.

"You had best fetch her," Zarbon said lazily as he curled the tail of his braid around one long finger.

"Where?" Vegeta spat, trying to ignore that tremors of terror that were rippling down his tail.

"Someplace you're intimately familiar with. Down, down, down."

Cooler pointed to the floor beneath their feet, and Vegeta knew exactly what they were talking about. Although he had spent most of his time in the dungeons of Frieza's ship, he had no doubt that they were exactly the same on his father's. He turned on his heel, trying desperately trying not to appear too frantic as he exited the room. As soon as the door closed, he increased his speed until he became only flashes of light. He had to get to her as soon as possible. He had no doubt that Bulma wouldn't be able to withstand the torture very long before her mind snapped.

Hardened warriors could barely withstand it, and many didn't. It was a torture whispered about on distant planets. Grown men had nightmares about it. Purgatory, Damnation, Hell.

The Hole.


	22. Save Me

Disclaimer: I don't in any way own DBZ, but I will pull out the claws and fangs in a fight for Vegeta.

Thanks to Barb for her beta skills.

I forgot to edit the content for this site, so let me do it now. proceeds to tear chunks of her story out to comply with rating rules. You can read the complete chapter at my site or on mediaminer under the pen name temptingtemptation.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Save me

"Vegeta!"

Bulma's shriek traveled down Vegeta's spine, wrapping cold, icy fingers around the base of his tail, and yanked hard on his sensitive nerves.

He blew through the doors to the room Bulma was being held, knocking aside two guards.

"Vegeta, help me!" The pure panic in her voice cut through his gut like a ki whip. Her pale fingers stuck up from a grate in the floor, frantically searching for any way out.

He bent down, thrusting his fingers into the holes to yank the lid free, throwing it against the far wall, unsurprised at the ease he was able to do so. Her strength was nominal compared to his.

Bulma shot up from the hole, beetles and maggots cascading down her naked body. She was screaming, her words unintelligible with fear. She was desperately clawing at Vegeta's pant leg, trying to pull herself out of the knee-deep, writhing pool of insects.

Vegeta grabbed her by the arms, hauling her up to stand beside him. She gripped the top of his breastplate with fingers frozen with terror. With her other hand she swiped at her hair, shaking the mass violently. The steel floor tinged as the armor-coated beetles hit the ground.

"Get 'em off! Hurry! Get 'em off!"

She was slurring she was so panicked, and automatically Vegeta began to brush the bugs from her body, silently thankful that they hadn't bitten her. A small mercy on Zarbon's part. The last man Vegeta had seen pulled out of the hole, nearly died from the infectious bites littering his body.

Bulma was looking down shaking her hair when she noticed that the fallen bugs were trying to climb back up her legs. She went from panic-stricken to instant melt down. She screamed at the top of her lungs while trying vainly to climb up Vegeta like he was a piece of furniture.

He took a shocked step backward, but she followed relentlessly. She came at him in a whirlwind of panic that left him with no other choice than to pick her up before she toppled them both. He cradled her naked body to his chest, uncomfortable embarrassment staining his cheeks a she sobbed brokenly against his neck. Her wet, hot tears burned his skin like acid they were so full of pain and suffering.

The guards he had knocked down had struggled to their feet, and were now framing the doorway, leering at them unabashedly.

"She would be a fine piece, if she wasn't so loud," one guard said while tugging on his ringing ear.

"Are you kidding me? That's the best. The harder they cry the better they are," The second guard grinned at his comrade as he spoke. Neither of them saw the bright balls of ki that tore through their chests dropping them dead on the ground.

Bulma was oblivious, too caught up in her personal torment to notice the guards' abrupt demise. Even while in Vegeta's arms she was trying to brush the insects off her skin. He grimaced down at her, tightening his arms around her squirming form. He shrugged his cape until it fell over his arm, draping Bulma in crimson to cover her naked, wiggling body.

He sped through the halls, ignoring the press of her naked body as his momentum increased. He became flashes of light, his grim features warning away lesser warrior from what he had claimed as his.

He burst into his quarters going directly to the bathroom without stopping.

"Fill bath. Shower on," he commanded the automated services.

He tried to put Bulma on her feet, but she refused. Instead she wrapped her body around his, clinging to him as though he was the only form of reason in a storm of insanity. He pried at her fingers around his neck, but she was unyielding to the point that he was afraid of breaking her stiff fingers.

Finally he relented, and step into the shower with her in his arms. The warms spray hit them at full blast soaking their clothes to the skin. As soon as she felt the water, Bulma lifted her face, eager to let it stream over her. She lowered her feet, but she kept one fist wrapped around Vegeta's breastplate in a death grip. With the other hand she began to swipe at her hair, working her fingers through the strands.

To wash her hair completely she had to let go of Vegeta, but she was too frightened. Even if he were to go into the other room, she was sure that that the evil that crouched in her mind would leap upon her. She did not want to think of the things she had endured, broken twisted things, and the only way to starve them off was to be in Vegeta's presence. The torture at the hands of the green man and his friends had been horrible, but she could handle pain. The insects though, that had been a nightmare.

Vegeta wrapped his large hand around her small wrist, not pulling at her arm, but making his intention clear. She looked up at his face, and she knew that she must look horrible. She sniffed, rubbing her face with her free hand, cleaning it as thoroughly as she could.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bitchess."

His voice was warmer than the water they stood in. It wrapped around her, soothing all of her aches and pains. The name he used should have infuriated her, and at one time it had, but now it had been turned into an affection. His name for her, his brand. It reassured her as much as his presence did. Now that she was certain that he wouldn't leave, she felt safe enough to release him.

Vegeta tore his clothes from his body, seeing no reason for them to get wetter than they were. He opened the shower door to heap them on the bathroom floor it a sopping wet pile. He closed the door, turning back to her.

Bulma ignored him for the moment, soaking in his aura of protection while she roughly cleaned her skin with soap. She grabbed the bottle of shampoo, but Vegeta took it from her hand before she could use it. Gently he turned her around so she faced the wall, silently wincing when he saw the burns on her body. It was obvious they had used a ki lash on her body, but she seemed unconcerned with the inevitable pain. All she wanted was for the bugs to be gone.

He poured a huge glob of the shampoo in the center of his hand, and then put the bottle down. He smeared it around in his hands, while staring at her pale, delicately curved back. She was shorter than him, coming to his chin, but her legs were long and shapely. Her hips curved into narrow waist, and he followed her spine to her wet, aqua hair that flowed over her shoulders the wet ends clinging to her back.

Slowly he soaped the ends of her hair, working his way up to her head. He furrowed his fingers through her thick hair, rubbing against her scalp. She moaned in appreciation, leaning back against his hands in a silent insistence for more. He massaged her head, watching as the trails of soap slid down her back, and over the crest of her ass.

She stepped back, pressing her back flat with his chest. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted so she could rub her soapy curls on his chest. Vegeta braced himself against the shower wall, nearly purring at the sensation of her body against his.

He felt so good against her, his nearness banishing all the horrors of the world. While they had tortured her she had only thought of Vegeta, her soul lifting from her body to seek him. She had worried that he was being beaten or tortured in the room next to her, once again made to kneel before his lizard master. After spending so much time with him in space, she had finally glimpsed inside of him. As he took her from world to world introducing her to the evils of the universe, to his life, she finally understood.

He was a man struggling to survive.

His life had been cruelly designed by an unforgiving fate, but he refused to give in and die. Everyday he fought, eliminating the threats that he could while dodging those he could not. He coped with his servitude to an evil master the only way that he could, through destruction.

She should be afraid of him, terrified of his very shadow, but she was not. She was no fool to believe that he continued to save her out of the goodness of his heart. He wanted something from her, something that could only be given and not taken.

He thought that if he could own her that he would receive what he was looking for. If he cut her off from all that she loved that she would drown in his scintillating aura. That she would be drawn in by the undulating, writhing power that surrounded him.

But he was wrong. His strength was not what drew her. It was his weakness. He sought to own her, to consume her, and she willingly gave her life to him. She accepted his possession, gave in to his hunger, not because she was weak or easily swayed, but because she saw a need within him, a weakness.

He sought her, because he desperately wanted one thing. He didn't know it, or see it himself. He searched the universe looking for what couldn't be named---finally finding it in her.

All he wanted was someone to love him. To never be alone, to have the brush of compassion and mercy in his soul. If voiced he would deny it venomously, not even aware of his own need, but she could see it, deep down, where now one dared to look. She saw and she responded to it.

Life with Vegeta was filled with terrible things. Purges, slavery, hunger, torture and pain, she had seen it all, and now she knew. She had asked why he was such a monster and now she knew her answer. Being a monster was the only way to survive in a universe filled with even more terrifying demons.

CENSORED

He couldn't understand this woman before him. She had suffered harshly while in his presence. She had seen the horrors of the universe, but she continued to throw herself at him, accepting him with a smile and glance.

He had expected her to run to him when she saw what the universe was really like. To hide in his arms, and give herself to him fully, allow herself to be possessed by him. And she did, but he was not bored with her or annoyed at having a wilting flower at his arm. She had given herself to him, but she did not cower, she did not hide her eyes. She looked at him squarely, unafraid, and bold.

She called for him to save her, but she didn't do it because she thought he was the most powerful monster, who would chew and spit out the bones of her enemies. She called to him because she expected him to save her, as if it was her right. Not because she owned him, or that he was so besotted with her that he lost his self, but because she looked at him as a man---an honorable man who was _meant _to save her. And yet she was a scientist and he a warrior of strong will, neither of them believing in something as intangible as destiny. Something so laughable.

He took her into the heart of darkness, and in return she gave him light. Here they stood at the very brink of destruction, on the ship that could very well be their tomb, and she stood beside him fearlessly, daring any to challenge him. She had been tortured by his enemies, but she did not scorn him. She did not lay the blame of her pain at his feet; instead she chose to lather him with adoration.

He had sought to own her, to posses her and make her his, but he had made a fatal mistake as he pursued her. He had been confident that he could woo her and leave her, never looking back, but at that moment he realized something profound.

He did not own her, they owned each other.

CENSORED

He kept her pinned, his body firmly wedged in hers, as he panted against his neck. All of his wayward thoughts were shoved away into the dark recesses of his mind. His thoughts could not be cluttered by useless emotions at such a dangerous time. It wouldn't be long before King Cold figured out that the man who defeated Frieza in battle was from Earth. The same planet that he had been held prisoner on, the same one he had failed to conquer almost two years ago. It was a very dangerous time for them both, and he needed all his wits about him to keep them safe.

He pulled back to look down at Bulma. Her eyes were half-shuttered, a blissful smile around her lips. He refused to think what it would mean to him if she was killed. Just the thought of her being tortured had been ice water in his veins. He could not be distracted when there was so much at stake.

He dropped her legs to the floor, but her arms remained tangled around his neck. He raised his hands to pull her away, ignoring the soft press of her body against his.

"Take a bath with me?"

Her big blue eyes were now staring up at him, whispers of passion still dancing in their depths. It was on his lips to say no, but the ache inside of him smothered it. He wanted her again and again, but more than that, he wanted her in his arms.

He lifted her up, cradling her body against his chest. She smiled, snuggling her nose into the hollow of his throat. The water that he had ordered before entering the shower had filled the tub, steam clouding the air.

He nudged her, and she looked up from his shoulder. He smiled wickedly down at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. She returned his smile, more than happy to enter into his game of seduction for pleasure.

An hour later, most of the water was pooled on the bathroom floor, while the two lovers lazed inside the half empty tub. Bulma lay on Vegeta's chest, her ear against his heart. She loved the strong, tattoo of his heartbeat. Whenever she felt that he was made of untouchable stone, the strong beat of his heart reassured her that he was indeed alive.

Vegeta's fingers were tangled in her long, blue hair that waved down her back in a wet mass. He sighed, his chest expanding and her body lifting out of the water, before settling back down again.

"I don't know why I keep saving you," he muttered discontentedly.

Bulma thought for a moment, before lifting her head to look him in the eye.

"Because if you don't, there will be no one there to save you when you need it."

Vegeta scowled down at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he didn't need saving. He was a strong warrior, the Saiyan prince, and he needed no one, but her words struck a chord inside him that he couldn't explain. He held his tongue, biting back the boast, and then the moment was lost.

She lowered her head, her ear against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart.


	23. Love Her Not

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

Thanks to Bardockgurl for her beta skills

Chapter Twenty-Three

Love Her Not

Vegeta successfully untangled himself from the clinging mass of sheets, arms and legs only to stumble on the wad of blankets on the floor. Cursing softly, he made his way to the closet, his tail twitching angrily. Groggily, Bulma lifted her head, blinking at the clenched muscles of Vegeta's bare backside as he tried to unearth a clean uniform.

She dropped her head, a smile curling on her lips, already dreaming of heady kisses and sweat-slicked skin. Vegeta pulled on his uniform quietly, unnaturally considerate of the woman that laid sprawled out over the bed, her pale ivory back contrasting sharply with the satiny black sheets that bunched at the dip of her spine.

He thrust his hand into his white glove as he watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing. He glided toward her with dangerous grace, his still bared hand reaching for her before coming to a full stop. He extended a single index finger, barely touching her as he traced the path of her spine from the curve of her backside to the slope of her shoulders. She was like silk on satin, soft and beautiful, sleek and complex, utterly glorious. He brushed her watery blue hair from her face, admiring her profile. He paused, stilled by her beauty, unsure of what he meant to do, of what he wanted.

She shifted beneath his touch, mumbling softly. Vegeta leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear.

"I will be back later, my Bitchess," he promised, already imagining what he would do to her when he returned.

Her eyes fluttered, her long teal lashes kissing her cheeks. His tongue sneaked out, tasting her warm flesh, and the spice of her blood simmering beneath her skin.

Vegeta left his quarters, unable to understand his affectionate attitude towards the woman who slept in his bed. She should be regulated to the smallest part of his brain that was only concerned with food and sex, not luxuriating around in his consciousness, distracting him from his business.

Vegeta absentmindedly made his way to the commissary for food to take back to his quarters. There was no way he was going bring Bulma to the cafeteria to get her own food. This particular one catered to dregs of Frieza's ship, and most of them didn't care if they died, (and die they would if they touched what was his,) as long as they had a good time doing it. It would be like waving fresh meat in front of hungry predators.

Most of the soldiers were gathered in the dinning area, each trying to vie for the best morsels of food. As Vegeta walked by they parted, making way for him as he passed.

Rank under Frieza wasn't decided by aristocratic authority, or the ability to purchase favors, there were no stars or stripes. Rank was decided by strength. Those who were most powerful were allowed privileges, not because they had authority, but because they could take them and kill any who challenged them.

Vegeta wasn't in the least concerned for the two men that he had killed down in the bowls of the ship when retrieving Bulma. They were nothing more than foot soldiers, easy fodder, designed to die at Frieza's whim.

He wouldn't go entirely unpunished however. He couldn't just murder a fellow solider, robbing his Lord of man in his military, without cost. In return, he would have to pay the dead man's Soldier Price. That was the cost of training a new man of equal rank, to take the deceased's place, something that Vegeta could easily afford, especially now that he had access to all his funds.

He grinned smugly at the thought of finally being able to wave his fortune in his female's face. Normally he was reticent about sharing his fortune, paranoid, rightly so, that someone would steal his already stolen gains, but he couldn't resist the idea of finally proving his financial vigor to the one person who had questioned it. He could already imagine the look on her face when he proved his wealth to her.

Vegeta was roughly pulled out of his thoughts as someone collided with him. No one in their right mind ever crossed paths with the merciless prince, much less bumped him in the hall. His head shot up, his black eyes filled with murder. He met the mocking, green gaze of Zarbon, the filthiest, fucking bastard on the ship next to Frieza. He was so dirty that the smell of corruption wafted off his powdered skin like soured milk. Vegeta's already fierce frown grew deeper, his eyes hardening like chips of obsidian ice.

"Careful, Vegeta. You wouldn't want to return to your little human female all bruised up, would you?"

Vegeta stilled under the onslaught of Zarbon's words. It wasn't the sharp undertone of a threat that chilled him. It was the fact that Zarbon knew that Bulma was human.

He raised his head, his inscrutable gaze roving over the jovial man's features. Zarbon saw Vegeta's unrest, and his grin grew, his delight at torturing Vegeta was boundless.

"Oh, yes. I know. I'm the one that tortured her after all."

The skin across Vegeta's back tightened at the man's words. He knew that Zarbon had been the one to torture Bulma, but it was something that he had put from his mind. The stress of lies in the interview room with King Cold, and the nearly endless bout of fucking the night before had exhausted him. He refused to admit that the reason he had thrust it from his mind was because the thought brought him actual physical pain---an ache where his heart should be, a flinching in his dead soul. But it couldn't be avoided, and worse, it couldn't be stopped.

"Who else have you been sharing your sordid little tales with, Zarbon?"

Vegeta's voice was velvet soft, menace thinly veiled by insincerity. He remembered how closely Zarbon had stood next to Cooler. How easily they had conspired. Zarbon knew Vegeta's most closely guarded secret, but in return Zarbon revealed his own. Zarbon was in bed with Cooler. Whether it was figurative or not, Zarbon was betraying Frieza with his own brother.

"No one, as of yet. I just can't seem to find the words." Zarbon waved his hand, his manner lackadaisical, his movements feminine, but his eyes shone with hate so dark that even Vegeta was subtly affected by it.

Vegeta's stomach sank. Blackmail was yet another less than honorable practice that he was intimately familiar with. He had done his share in his life, but he had rarely been blackmailed himself. He owed it entirely to the austere life that he led. He had never put himself in a position to have something that he didn't want taken from him.

He had learned from the mistake he had made as a child. He had let Frieza manipulate him with his father's wellbeing, allowing himself to be turned into a monstrous demon that could never be redeemed. All for the love of his parent. Once his father was gone, Vegeta had never loved again; he had never allowed himself to be so vulnerable---_until now._

"What do you want, Zarbon?" Vegeta had never seen the benefit of dancing to someone else's tune. Blunt and to the point was how he liked all his dealings.

"Oh, I haven't decided yet. I suppose I'll just have to one-up you in the future." Zarbon's smile was sickly sweet, and his syrupy voice threatened to choke Vegeta alive.

Vegeta grimaced in disgust. Zarbon was reserving the right to trump Vegeta in the future. By using his information about Bulma against Vegeta, he would be able to coerce the prince to do his bidding. However horrible and evil that it may be.

"Lord Frieza is going to have your green skin as a throw rug when he finds out you're two-timing him with his brainless brother," Vegeta spat back, using his own leverage against the amphibian.

Zarbon laughed, the tinkling sound of precious jewels brushing against each other as they cascaded over naked skin.

"Perhaps, but who is going to tell him? You?" Zarbon laughed again, turning away from the defeated prince.

Vegeta kept his intense dismay stoically hidden while damning his past. The rivalry between Zarbon and him was no secret. When it came to intrigue and manipulation, Zarbon was far more skilled than Vegeta, and over the years he had made Vegeta out to be a fool. So skillful were Zarbon's manipulations that it was nearly impossible to say anything against the amphibian lest he get laughed out of the room.

"Remember you have a ball to attend tonight. And don't forget your human. Frieza is eager to meet her." Zarbon walked away, his muscled body swaying seductively to some unheard music.

Vegeta growled under his breath as he stalked away from the cafeteria, breakfast forgotten. He stormed into his quarters, startling Bulma who was reclining on the couch, still trying to wake up. Ignoring her, he accessed his Vid Feed from panel on the wall.

"What's going on, Vegeta? What are you doing?" Bulma walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder, not really expecting an answer.

From her standpoint it looked like he was checking his email. Her lips curled at her wholly human explanation for his alien doings. She peered closer, her smile dimming when she realized he was reading something that she couldn't understand. She had solved the problem of her language barrier, but she still couldn't read alien. That was defect she definitely needed to correct.

Vegeta began to mutter fiercely under his breath, and Bulma almost wished she hadn't invented her translator. His vulgar language nearly made her blush. She stepped back, instinctively knowing that he needed his space, while lifting one finely arched brow.

"That bad, huh?"

Vegeta folded his arms, scowling darkly. "I have to go to a party."

Bulma couldn't help the smile that lifted her lips. There was nothing more in the world than she loved than a party. Okay, maybe that wasn't true. What she really loved was to shop for the perfect outfit for said party.

"Oh, no! Not a party! Whatever will you do?" she mocked.

Vegeta shot her an angry look. "Shut the fuck up, you dimwit."

Bulma rolled her eyes, knowing better than to correct his rude behavior. Better that he abuse her verbally than say…murder her.

She shivered as the thought stopped her cold. Did she still believe that Vegeta would eventually murder her? Did she still think that he was capable? She eyed him as he stood at the door, arrogantly staring her down, his aura of wickedness seeping through every pore in her body.

Yes, she still thought he was capable of killing. Of that she had no doubt, but everyday that she stayed with him, every night that he caressed her body reverently in the dark, the less that she believed that he would murder her. Perhaps, he still would, one day when she ceased to be of use, and when that day came, she would meet it unflinchingly. She would hide the hurt away in her heart, and bravely die, even it was to make him proud of her courage.

Not that she wanted to. In fact, she was quite against dying.

Vegeta glared down at her, his lips compressed into a straight line. The woman was constant trouble for him. He dared not take her into public, lest someone challenged him for her, and now with Zarbon's decree, he could not keep her inside.

His personal mail included a demand that he attend tonight's gala, celebrating Frieza's victory over the infidels. The order had come from King Cold, who was throwing the party in his son's honor. No one had seen or heard from Frieza since his extensive surgery, which was something that Vegeta found to be very questionable. Even if Frieza needed time to heal his injuries, that would have never stopped him from boasting to all that could hear, how he had defeated those who dared to thwart his authority. Normally, Frieza would be waving his superiority under everyone's nose, reminding them that he was the most powerful being in the universe, utterly undefeatable. Yet, he was nowhere to be found. Tonight's party would be the first time he left his rooms.

"What has you all worked up, Vegeta?" Bulma approached her prince, concern shining in her eyes. If he continued to scowl all the time, the lines in his forehead would cut right through his brain like razor wire.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to mind her own business, but a small voice reminded him that she needed to know everything if she was to protect herself properly. Even if she couldn't compete physically with the other warriors on the ship, perhaps she could try using her supposedly genius brain for once, and avoid situations that would get her into trouble.

"Zarbon is plotting against Frieza with Cooler."

"Zarbon?" she asked.

"That green piece of shit that…questioned you." He didn't want to mention her torture. For some reason, just the very thought made him angry.

"Oh," she paused, thinking for a minute. "And Cooler is Frieza's brother, right? They don't get along?"

"No. Cooler is jealous of Frieza. He is constantly trying to find a weakness to exploit. Now, it looks like he's teamed up with Zarbon to try and usurp his brother from King Cold's favor." Vegeta rolled his head back, working out the tense muscles in his neck. Bulma swallowed at the gleam of bronze skin that he revealed to her.

"How do you know all this?" she asked innocently to mask her sudden surge of desire.

Vegeta's head tilted forward, a dark look of desire reflecting in his eye. Her cheeks heated, and she belatedly remembered that he could smell her heat from across the room.

"Because Frieza doesn't know that you are human. Zarbon obviously coerced that information from you, but he hasn't shared that with his master."

"Perhaps, he doesn't think it's important." Bulma shrugged, barely grasping the danger of the situation.

"Oh, he knows. He's just waiting for the right time to use it. If he reveals that you are human then my loyalty is going to be called into question. They are going to assume that I was in collusion with the humans on Namek. As if I would join forces with those turd-brained friends of yours. Or that freak Saiyan turned human want-a-be." Vegeta muttered the last part to himself, obviously angry about Goku's perceived defection from the Saiyan race.

Bulma ignored his gratuitous dislike of her friends, deciding to keep the conversation on track. "Why would they think that?"

"If I was a prisoner like I said, then they would want to know why you aren't dead, and why your world isn't in ruins. Somehow, I don't think they are going to grasp just how devious you are."

He paused looking at her with piercing black eyes.

"I, myself, can barely comprehend it. Such a small slip of a girl, yet you managed to stay alive this long, and keep your world in one piece."

His voice was like ice, slipping over her heated skin, chilling to the bone, but oddly pleasurable. She had thought that he had forgotten how she had tricked him so long ago in her darkened lab that he had destroyed in rage, but he had not.

"Didn't you tell that that you've been trapped on Earth all this time? Haven't they figured it out on their own?" Bulma hedged, her eyes darting away from his intense gaze.

Vegeta advanced on her, a whisper of moment in the still room. "No. For some misbegotten reason, I didn't tell them that I was on Earth all this time. For all they know I could have been half way across the universe in some dirt floor jail cell. In fact, I all but directly lied to them. But I can't figure out for the life of me, why?"

Bulma swallowed, small chills of sweat broke out across her body. "You were protecting me." It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question to his ears.

Vegeta dipped his head, a small acknowledgement nothing more, but the gravity of the situation hit her like Mac truck. Vegeta had lied to his master, and put his life on the line to keep her safe, and her people. He was risking everything for her, a small slip of a girl, as he put it. Her earlier question that Vegeta may still kill her answered its self. If he dared to put his life on the line for her, then he would never lift a hand to kill her.

"How could that information possibly be of value to Zarbon?" In other words, exactly how could he use it to hurt them?

"It's not about how it's useful to him, but how important it is to someone else," Vegeta's voice hardened. He was being blackmailed, the when and where had yet to be revealed, but it was there, hanging over him like a black cloud. There was nothing that he hated more than being vulnerable. His hands curled into fists, and he felt the need to lash out at the first thing in his reach.

"Of course, you with your sheltered experience would have no idea about secret conspiracies and gossip mongers."

"Oh, I don't know," Bulma replied flippantly. "After all, I did go to high school."

_Briefly_, she added silently to herself. When she was sixteen she had begged her father to let her go even though she was a college graduate twice over. She had wanted to experience life as a normal teenager, with normal everyday teenage activities. Instead she had found a hotbed of malicious liars, egotistical jocks, and cruel cliques bent on seeing her miserable. After a few weeks she had left high school behind, and had embarked on her quest for the dragon balls. She remembered all too well how desperately she wanted a friend, so desperate that she was willing to use magic to get one.

Bulma's blasé attitude about their situation angered, Vegeta. Couldn't she understand how much danger that they were in. He might survive. He had the strength, both mental and physical to suffer any punishment that Frieza would heap on him, but Bulma wouldn't be so lucky. If fate loved her, she would die instantly, but if it did not…then she could linger for weeks before being put out of her misery.

"Get dressed," Vegeta snapped.

Bulma jumped, unprepared for the pure venom in Vegeta's voice.

"Why are we going to get breakfast?" Bulma's stomach rumbled loudly at the thought.

Vegeta wanted to kick her for reminding him that he forgot to bring back the food that he had purposely left to go get in the first place.

"No."

"But, I'm hungry." As soon as the words came out Bulma wanted to shove them back in. There was no way that she wanted to go down that particular path again.

"Too bad. You're too fat, anyways."

"I am not!" Bulma screeched in outrage, her cheeks red with mortification.

She was right of course, she wasn't, but he certainly liked looking at her when she was angry. Her eyes sparked with passion and her breasts swelled. It was almost as good as sex. Vegeta grinned at her, and belatedly Bulma realized that he had baited her. He stalked towards her, barely giving her warning before he pounced.

Two hours later they exited their quarters, Bulma breathless and flushed, Vegeta implacable as ever. She followed after him as he stalked down the hall. He looked neither left nor right, but she knew that he was aware of everything around him. She hurried behind him as fast as she could, reluctant to be left behind, but she knew that he would never leave her, even accidentally. Though his back was to her, she had no doubt that he knew every little expression that passed over her features.

He led her through a maze of shining metal corridors, and crowded lifts, taking her to the very edge of the ship. Through a bank of star-studded windows, Bulma could see a ring of metal that floated around the bloated belly of the ship. She quickly surmised that was held into place by a gravitational field. It looked large enough to house several additional decks, but what it really was she had no idea.

Vegeta marched up to a wall that had orange circles painted on the paneling.

"Place your hands here." He pointed to the circles on the wall.

"Why?" Bulma questioned curiously

Vegeta grabbed her hands roughly in answer, placing them in the circles.

"Stay," he growled.

Bulma obeyed, looking at the wall to figure out what he was doing. The wall was painted white over the metal, and it looked like it was on the verge of cracking. One moment she was staring at the poor paint job and the next she was whirling in a pool of black. Just as suddenly, she was barfed out, her body falling loosely to the floor. Vegeta appeared beside her unharmed, and hauled her to her feet.

Bulma held her stomach, afraid that she would lose last night's dinner while looking back distrustfully at the wall. She could tell that they were in a different part of the ship now, probably the ring that she had seen floating outside the window.

"What…" Bulma started, but her words drifted off into nothing. Vegeta looked down at her, watching as a myriad of expressions crossed her face. It was fascinating to him as he watched her think, he could tell the minute she understood what had happened, even without an explanation from him. She truly was a genius.

"Instant teleportation!" She gasped in wonder. She pulled on his grip on her arm in an attempt to turn around to examine the fascinating technology.

"Later." Vegeta didn't let her loose, but kept dragging her through the halls. Bulma pouted in disappointment, but didn't argue. She already had plans to crack his information panel in his room. She was sure that she could use that to get access to the ship's systems and files, even the most top secret ones. Maybe should would even be able to teach herself the common language here.

The halls became narrowed and the traffic heavier. Vegeta pulled her towards the outer level, where the most prestigious shops were located. Instead of merging with the crowd on the wider path, he veered off, taking her into a narrow metal alley, between two shops. He paused just before the exit, his face still cloaked in shadow as Bulma peered around his shoulder gasping.

Bulma was a creature used to the finer things in life. She had been born on the finest satin sheets edged in gold, and her crib had been made of pearl. She spent her entire life shopping in the richest, most fabulous shops the world had to offer, and in return she had learned what true pretentious quality was. There was no doubt in her mind that she was looking out at a strip of those boutiques right now. They faced out to a bank of windows that were decorated with whizzing stars and the blackest night, and only a few people came in and out…the best of the best…the elite.

Vegeta turned towards her, his face dark, but pained in a way that made her heart hurt for some unknown reason. She lifted her hand to reach for him, but his tense shoulders, told her that he didn't want her comfort. His face grim and his mouth set, he reached into his armor, pulling out a thin crystalline disk.

"Take this and get what you need."

Bulma looked down at the cred chip, then back out into the expensive shop laden strip, lines of confusion creasing her brow.

"Are you sure?" she asked skeptically. Her mind wondered back to their numerous, and nearly deadly arguments about money in the past. A wry smile twisted her lips, when she came to the conclusion that most relationships break down under the stress of their finances. Money may not make the world go round, but it certainly made the ride less bumpy.

Vegeta read the concern in her eyes, and knew exactly what she was thinking. He knew he shouldn't be annoyed at her insinuation that he didn't have any money, especially after their trip here, but he couldn't help but flex his chest with pride as he pointed to the chip.

"I have more than enough money to meet even your needs. I could fill this entire ship with gold and gems if it was to your liking." He leaned down closer to her, grinning wickedly. "And, I would never give you false jewels, my Bitchess."

Something dark, sinful, and pulse-pounding swept through Bulma settling in the deepest part of her. It writhed inside her, sliding against all of her that was wicked and primal. She would have never imaged that he would make such a claim, to boast not only of his money, but that he would give it all to her. The pure female inside her wagged with delight. Before her stood a man, proud, handsome, and strong enough to protect what was his, with enough money to see her in luxury. Bulma may already be the richest woman on planet Earth, but it didn't hurt to have a lover who was even richer.

The best thing of his declaration was that she was sure that he didn't even realize what he said to her. In true male fashion he had extended his brightly colored feathers in an effort to court her. He certainly wasn't going to dance, and he would never ask, but he would show her in his own way that he intended to be her male, for better or worse.

A soft smile formed on her lips, stunning the malicious curl off Vegeta's lips. She placed her soft palm on his check, wondering at the silken feel. In all their time together she had never seen him shave, and she was left to wonder if Saiyan males produced any hair except for on their tails and head.

She leaned closer, placing her lips gently against his. She didn't open her mouth, or use her tongue, but she remained still, relishing the feel of his lips against hers. Vegeta sat in stunned silence, absorbing her touch, before the primal part of his brain urged him action. He wrapped his thickly muscled arms around her narrow waist, pulling her against his chest, melding her body to his.

His lips moved over hers, devouring her hungrily. No longer able to patiently sit under her touch, his tongue slipped into her mouth, seeking the source of her attraction, the reason for his insanity. He wanted to split her skin open and crawl inside, douse himself with her blood, and lick her bones. For some reason he had held himself back from her at the last leg of the journey. Perhaps it was because he knew that he couldn't keep her, that she would be torn away before he could possess her fully, so he had checked his passion, encasing himself in ice.

But now her presence seemed more real. Since he had saved her from the hole he had gained an omnipotent feeling of possessiveness. He had kept her from Frieza, she would never been taken away, and she would be his forever. His to own, to brand with his scent.

Abruptly, he let her go, aware of where they were, and that he couldn't act on his most feral impulses. He smirked at her look of awe-struck bemusement that graced her flushed cheeks, proud at how easily she lost herself to his touch. She was so enticing that he feared that he would be unable to control himself while they were in public, and that was completely unacceptable.

What he needed to do was get away from her. He couldn't leave her alone, for fear that she would get molested, but she didn't need to know that. He could guard her from afar, and she would be none the wiser.

Without a word, he turned on his heel to stride away, leaving her alone in the alley.

"Where are you going?" Bulma reached out, almost panicked. Vegeta turned, but he didn't move towards her, and pride held her still.

Vegeta easily read her disquiet, since he himself managed to instill the fear in her in the first place. She didn't want to be left alone, and he was loathed to leave her, but it couldn't be helped. He could bear to be in her presence much longer.

"No one will hurt you here." His words were true to his best extent. Word had quickly gotten around that the blue-haired woman was concubine to Prince Vegeta, and his possessiveness was already legendary. For a man, who had previously been coldly emotionless to the fairer sex to callously kill two soldiers over her, had caused quite a stir. By now everyone from the Ginyu Squad to the lowliest slave would know of his attachment.

No one of lesser rank would dare touch her, and if anyone of greater power wanted her, there was little that Vegeta could do. If she was captured a second time there would be no getting her back, and she wouldn't be safe with or without him. But that didn't mean that he dared to leave her.

Perhaps that was the source of his almost predatory instinct to savor her. Not that he could finally call her his and possess her, but because she was in such danger of being taken away. She had him in knots, his body twisted and his mind turned inside out. He couldn't think straight and form rational thought. For once he couldn't divine the future and manipulate it to his will. He had no idea what the next few days had in store for him. No way to prepare himself.

"But…" Bulma's voice trailed off in a quiver, her fear evident in every shadow of her blue eyes.

Vegeta knew that she needed reassurance, but he could not tell her his reason for his departure. She was privy to many things, but his lack of control when around her wasn't one of them. As smooth as a jungle cat, Vegeta glided up to her, effortlessly pinning her to the wall to look down into her eyes.

"You still don't get it, do you? There are Elites, and this mongrel trash." He waved his hand to the strip, motioning at the passing crowd. "I am an Elite."

The people that strode to and fro from the shops looked elite to her. But perhaps he spoke of physical strength and not wealth.

Vegeta both irked and amused her. She had grown up with only the finest silver spoon in her mouth, but her parents had been sure to teach her some level of humility and charity. In another person's eyes, she may have been born superior, but she didn't view herself as such.

"Well that's a very egotistical attitude," she quipped, her fear melting away under her intense awareness of his animal heat.

Vegeta lips quirked up in the corner, wickedness gleaming in his eyes. Bulma felt her belly drop, and her skin prickle. He lifted his hand from the wall, extending it away from his body, and towards the crowd. His black eyes never left hers, his face implacable and deadly.

"Should I blast them for you? Would that make you feel safer?"

"I…" Bulma wanted to protest, but she was completely shocked by Vegeta. She expected him to blast people, in fact she was quite sure that he would grow cranky if he couldn't do it on a regular basis, but she would have never expected him to offer to do it on her behalf. As horrifying as it was, it also warmed something inside her. Her prince was full of surprises this day.

Vegeta lowered his arm, his smirk growing into a full self-satisfied grin.

"You are mine. None of that trash out there would dare to touch you." Vegeta's eyes grew dark, and his lips melted into a hard line. "There are few stronger than me, Bulma. If they come for you there is nothing that I can do to stop them, either here or in our quarters."

Chills went down Bulma's spine, and she could barely stand the look of hidden defeat in Vegeta's eyes. Too anyone else looking at him, they would have seen cold indifference, but she could see the pain inside of him, and it called to her. It drove her to soothe him, to draw the poison from his soul. She placed one small hand over his heart, feeling for its rhythmic beating that told of his life.

"Surely that won't happen. They won't come for us. I refuse to believe that they will." She filled her words with false sincerity, but it was brittle and easily seen for what it was.

Vegeta sighed, unbelieving that she had still managed to hold onto her fragile innocence, even after all that she had seen. Silently he admitted to himself that it was that singular quality in her that drew him to her.

"The world isn't colored in guilty grays or shallow blues. It is black and white. Power and weakness."

Bulma knew a losing battle when she saw one, so she forced a brilliant smile, waving his cred chip in his face, seemingly in victory.

"I hope you are prepared to spend a tidy fortune. I have strutted around in the same pair of pants long enough, mister." Her grin grew bigger as she pulled their conversation into more comfortable waters. "Perhaps if you're lucky, I'll repay you someday."

"I've already told you, I have more than enough. I'm not so poor as to demand repayment," he gruffed, amused at her pleasure at spending his money, but hurt at her offer to repay him.

"Then it is _you_ who doesn't understand. There are more valuable things in this universe than jewels. And when I say I'll repay you, I don't mean with money. Someday, you are going to need me, and I'm going to be there."

Her words were intense, her eyes full of hard promises. He bent down, his nose brushing against hers, his eyes dancing with ill-concealed mirth.

"I need no one, woman. Now go, before you stink up the whole ship." He pulled her from the wall, pushing her towards the strip, giving her a quick slap on the ass to hurry her on her way. She hopped forward before tossing a scathing glare over her shoulder, but he was already gone, not even his shadow remained.


	24. Gift of Blood

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

Lemon content has been censored. For complete chapter please visit my site which can be accessed through my bio, or visit me at mediaminer under the pen name temptingtemptation.

Thanks to Barb for lending her beta skills to me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Gift of Blood

_I have been defeated._

Frieza stared at himself in the full-length oval mirror. The chrome-metal plate in his head shone brightly under the stark white lighting in his room. He curled his toes, but couldn't feel the pushness of the carpet, only the tactile sensation of something being there.

His eyes were drawn to the reflection of his legs, but all he could see was the shine of metal with the groves and nuts of machinery. The chrome crawled up his legs, swallowed half his chest and devoured most of his head. Only his face remained untouched. Crimson on white, evil overlapping innocence, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't him.

"Lights off."

Even in the dimness of the room, Frieza could still see the darkness of steel instead of the usual fish belly white of his skin. It disgusted him, made him sick. His senses were dulled, but his emotions were razor sharp, cutting into the soft tissues of his brain.

He had lost. He had lost to a dirty, filthy monkey. To a bastard of the same race he had annihilated nearly twenty years ago for this very reason. Because he was afraid of being defeated by a Saiyan that would grow too powerful to bow to his rule. And the worst of it was that he lost to an orphan who had no idea the value of what he was fighting for.

Frieza staggered back from the mirror, barely able to comprehend the weight of his thoughts much less his emotions.

He, the Shining Lord of the Universe, had lost a fight to a more powerful foe. An enemy who was righteous and good, the epitome of what he was not. A warrior for the people, a solider of good, a son of the light. An undefeatable enemy lurked in the recesses of space, and no one knew but him. Not his father, his brother, not even his elite guards that had accompanied him to Namek. No one knew the truth.

Everyone assumed that he had won. That there had been a brilliant, planet-shattering battle, which he had survived, and that he had been victorious. No other conclusion was feasible, no other answer thinkable. No one dared to think that he had failed, and he dared not whisper a word of it lest his men fall on him like ravenous wolves, and his family disavow him as a weakling.

He didn't even know if he had enough strength in his fabricated body to defend his throne. He had lost more than a simple fight. He had lost his confidence, his superiority, his very being.

And now he had to step outside his door, free himself of his self-imposed exile and attend his victory party. A victory that wasn't even his. To live a lie that wasn't his creation.

Vegeta was waiting for Bulma as she returned to their quarters. He leaned casually against the doorframe that led to the bedroom as he watched her struggle to get all of her packages inside.

"That's it?" he questioned.

He had watched as she shopped---the raw anticipation of spending money on beautiful things, the slight cooling of her blood as she passed the expensive shops, the frown between her eyes as she looked down at his cred chip. He had never seen a war between greed and integrity before. Always, everyone acted in their own interests. They never questioned the outcome of their actions, and how it would hurt others. Only his innocent angel knew the meaning of integrity. Her boast of spending his money had quickly melted away under the heat of her conscious, and instead she had bought only the essentials.

Vegeta eyed the plethora of bags and boxes that surrounded her in the living area, sprouting up like fresh shoots of grass on a spring day. Of course, the essentials for his beautiful angel happened to be quite a bit more than he was used to.

Bulma's head shot up at his words, her eyes narrowing.

"Look. You didn't tell me what to get so I just got the basics. A girl needs more than two pairs of pants, you know," she huffed, certain that he was going to chastise her for spending too much of his money. For the first time in her life she had been concerned about the amount of money she was spending. She really didn't know what shape Vegeta's finances were in. For all she knew he could have been boasting out of some misplaced sense of male ego. She had decided not to test her luck, and settled on the things that she really needed. But since she had come into space empty-handed, she needed quite a bit.

Vegeta rolled his eyes, certain that he was living with a dimwit.

"You better have gotten something for the party."

Bulma beamed up at him from her packages, satisfaction dripping from her perfectly curved lips.

"Of course I did. It's beautiful. The seamstress assured me that it's one of a kind. A Bojorie… whatever that is. Why just look…"

Vegeta cut her off before she could finish. The last thing he needed was a designer fashion lesson.

"Why? I didn't say you were going to the party," he snapped.

Bulma's jaw fell open, confusion written in her dark blue eyes. "But you just said..."

"Whatever. Hurry up and get dressed. You have twenty minutes."

Bulma's jaw snapped closed with an audible click of her teeth. "You do things like that to piss me off don't you," she hissed.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, leaning forward menacingly. "Twenty minutes."

I can't possibly get ready in twenty minutes, Vegeta. You can't polish a diamond in so little time." Bulma swiped up her packages, stomping towards the bathroom. There was an awkward moment when she realized that he was blocking the entrance to the bedroom where the bathroom was.

He moved aside, leaning down to whisper in her ear as she passed. "Not so long, I should think, to polish something that already shines."

Shivers danced down her spine, tingling her senses. She paused to look back over her shoulder, but he had already disappeared into the living area. She made her way to the bathroom, giddy happiness lightening her steps.

As she disappeared behind the bathroom door, Vegeta rubbed his face with his palm, confusion and sorrow drawn into the set of his shoulders.

What was becoming of him? He never in his life behaved in such a way. He was actually flirting with her. She was supposed to be the woman that he was to tear apart and kill. She had been his captor, his torturer --- the one who had stolen all his dreams of revenge, turning them against him, until he was dizzy with confusion. His intentions had always been to fuck her, kill her, and leave her, but here she was, preparing for a party in his bathroom. She had become a part of him, a part that he was willing to cheat, lie and kill for. For the first time in his life he held something precious, and he wasn't going to let it go without a fight.

He made his way into the bedroom, stopping before a tall armoire that held three drawers in the bottom. He bent down, opening the bottom drawer, unearthing a pile of clothing until he reached the bottom. There, neatly folded, a dark blue tunic sat, his only Saiyan formal wear. Frieza disallowed his men to wear armor, even their dress armor to his galas. It made him nervous to see so many warriors in one place dressed for war; so he had decreed that they all come dressed in stylish evening wear.

In the past, Vegeta had always disregarded the order, instead appearing at the parties in his training suits or military uniforms. Always his disobedience had earned him punishment, but this time he couldn't allow that to happen. No matter what, he could not allow himself to be drawn from Bulma's side and leave her open to attack. And more importantly he wouldn't disgrace her by escorting her to the gala in one of his dirty training gis.

He pulled out the princely garb, something he hadn't worn since before his father had been murdered. When he had reached his maturity, Raditz had taken the outfit and had it re-sewn to fit the adult-sized prince, but the design and colors were still the same. By walking into Frieza's party, he would be declaring without a doubt that he was taking his rightful place as the Saiyan Prince. No words could say it louder than the mere action of dressing like the prince he was.

Twenty minutes later, Bulma walked out of the bathroom, freshly shined and polished. She didn't expect Vegeta to compliment her with words, but his eyes said enough. She was dressed in a crimson gown that sparkled in the light like a sheath of rubies. The heart shaped bodice, curved over her breasts before dipping down under her arms to the middle of her slender back. The skirt belled out modestly, and was frothed with diaphanous netting that was decorated with beads and jewels. Long red gloves ended at her elbows, disguising the fact that she wore no jewelry except for a single red ribbon that spanned her throat.

Bulma looked to Vegeta for a silent compliment, but she became distracted as she caught site of his garb. He wore soft-soled, black leather boots that wound themselves up his muscular calves. He wore butter-soft black braes that hugged his thighs like a second skin, and looked comfortable enough for dancing or battle. Over that he wore a sleeveless dark blue tunic the color of twilight that belted low over his hips, the black embroidered hem coming to mid-thigh. His bronze arms were left bare, and encircling each thick bicep were heavily decorated gold and platinum bands at least two inches wide. In the center, the intricately knotted designs came together to form an eye. One band held a ruby in the center, the other a sapphire.

"Oh, wow, Vegeta. You look…" Bulma couldn't finish, and she had to swallow before her throat dried up. Vegeta shrugged, and Bulma's eyes were drawn to the center of his chest. The belted tunic gapped down the front, leaving a trail of bare skin that nearly reached his belly button. In the center of his chest there was a medallion of gold and platinum, depicting the rise of three suns, the size of her fist resting on his heavily bronze skin. Each sun was a different jewel, one topaz, one ruby and the last one was a brilliantly orange gem she had never seen before.

Their eyes met, and Bulma instantly felt beautiful. There was a heat in Vegeta's eyes that could only be explained by need and desire. It darkened the already black color of his eyes until they shimmered like obsidian fire. Her spine tingled with anticipation and her nipples hardened beneath her gown. She felt lost in time as Vegeta glided over to her, his steps soundless, his presence godlike in intensity. His eyes never left her, but her body felt on fire as if he was already caressing her in the secret places that made her flame.

He stopped before her, his body a heart beat away, tantalizing her with his nearness, but torturing her without his touch. His powerful aura was already surrounding her, cradling her, cherishing her. He raised his hand, extending a single finger to trace the length of crimson ribbon at her throat. His eyes darkened until it seemed as though his pupils disappeared into the ring of black.

"You were no jewelry." His voice was like velvet---soft and beckoning, but threatening to suffocate her if she heaped too much of it on.

She had stopped several times to look in at the store fronts that sold dazzling jewels and glittering diamonds, but she had always stopped herself from buying. For some reason the giving and receiving of jewelry had become something personal between them. She had used his money to buy expensive gowns, silk camisoles, and the most satiny, intimate of things that caressed her bare skin, but she could not bring herself to buy a single ring or necklace. For some unknown reason, it had seemed wrong.

"Sometimes understated elegance speaks more loudly than garish adornment."

His lips twisted in a wry smile, clearly amused by her innocent statement, but unwilling to show it.

"Simplicity will win you no favor in Frieza's court, my angel."

Embarrassed at his slip of endearment, he turned away, pulling the ruby circlet from around his thick bicep. Without a word he slipped it around her slender neck, arranging it so the ruby sat in the center of her throat. The band was so wide that it nearly covered her entire neck, from the underside of her chin to her collarbone.

He stepped back to admire the flash of fire at her throat that matched the burning in her eyes. She was so beautiful that it took his breath away, but it did him no good to reveal that to her. He turned away, his eyes seeking out anything in the room that would distract him.

Sensing his retreat, Bulma reached for him, her hand brushing against the other armband. Looking for anything to bring him back to her, she asked the first thing that came to her mind.

"Why do they not match?"

Vegeta turned towards her, his eyes still hidden under the thick curtain of his lashes.

"They match. In their own way."

"This one," he lifted his hand to the ruby at her neck, his fingers trailing across the bands of gold and platinum, only to slide away to the softness of her skin along her shoulders, "is the symbol of blood for my people."

Bulma's eyes darkened in sad understanding, and Vegeta's lips curled into a slight smile.

"Not just for the blood spilled in battle, which my people reverently worship, but that of family."

Bulma stood stark still under his intensity. The air in the room become heavy with hidden meaning, and her lungs labored under the weight. Slowly she brought her long, pale fingers up to caress the jewel at her throat, the Saiyan symbol for family. Vegeta's family.

Vegeta looked away, just as uncomfortable with heaviness in the air as she.

"Long ago it was said that once the Saiyans stopped cherishing their family that we would fall. Time passed, and our babies were created in artificial wombs, fathers barely knew sons, and women no longer carried babes at their breast. Not long after that, Frieza came."

Bulma's heart constricted at Vegeta's last whispered words. She knew that Vegeta was not a superstitious man, but he recited the words as if he believed that a curse had been leveled at his race that had destroyed them all. Perhaps, she could see the allure of it. Deny your family and lose your existence. It was very cut and dried, understandable almost. Easier to understand than a tyrant destroying your world for no other reason than vindictiveness.

Her stomach heaved as she suddenly remembering something important, something horrifying. While she had been down on the purged world she had learned something of Frieza. That he turned worlds to dust, while telling the children that it had been destroyed by a meteor shower. Did Vegeta know? Had anyone ever told him that Frieza had destroyed all that he held dear?

"Vegeta…" She reached for him, but he turned away. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, his tone aching just like his soul, silencing her words with its pain.

"The sapphire represents the Saiyan royal line. Blue is the color of my house, of my birth. So I wear them together, to represent what I am. A royal Saiyan warrior of the house of Vegeta-sai."

Bulma circled around, planting herself as an unmovable object in Vegeta's path.

"And this?" she questioned, lifting her hand to palm the medallion in the center of his chest. He looked down at her, his eyes resting on the pile of blue hair on her bent head. His large hand covered hers, and her startled eyes darted to his.

"It is the three suns of Vegeta-sai. Even though the planet is no longer there, the suns remain, standing guard over the graveyard of my people."

Bulma couldn't stop the tears the filled her sapphire eyes, pooling at the corners, threatening to spill over her cheeks. Vegeta couldn't look away from the angelic vision that she was. She placed a soft palm on his cheek, rising up onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his. His eyes squeezed closed, his brow furrowing as if in pain. Always she did this to sooth him. Press soft kisses to his lips, without lust or desire, without want or need. Simple little kisses meant to convey her love to him. An unspoken love that neither of them admitted too. And always, he let her. He received her kisses, welcoming both the pain of heartbreak that they brought, and the soothing tranquility that stifled the flames of anger in his heart.

And always, after he could stand no more of her innocence, he turned those kisses into something he could understand, something that he could fathom and control. He deepened her kiss, turning her love into lust, taking her comfort and binding it away in a part of his soul that he refused to open up. He wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her muffled protest, hauling her body against his, reveling in the sensation of holding an angel turned bitchess.

Eventually Bulma forgot about ruining her dress, and lived only to feel the heat of Vegeta's mouth on hers. He kissed her with a desperate passion that always burned her up from the inside out. She could feel him, seeking something inside her, probing for an unconscious need. She opened herself to him, mind and body, allowing him to search her from the inside out.

Vegeta lifted her feet scant inches from the ground, just enough to move her to where he wanted her to be. He never stopped kissing her, drowning himself willingly in her taste and smell. He wanted her so badly that it hurt his body, and caused an ache in his soul. He was desperate and dying. She was the only one who could save him; she was the only one who could rescue him from the hell that he lived in.

The backs of Bulma's legs hit the edge of the bed, and he threw her down, pushing the froth of her crimson skirt up to bare her beautiful legs. He pulled her underwear away, mindless if he tore them or not. He fell on her, careful even in his frenzy, not to hurt her. Bulma welcomed him with open arms and legs. She arched her head back, her fingers driving into his hair, clamping down to ride the storm that Vegeta ensued in them both.

He covered her with kisses, down her mouth and jaw; he tongued the band around her throat, nuzzling behind her ear. His powerful tail wrapped around her upper thigh position her hips to meet his. CENSORED

He had the overwhelming fear that if he didn't take her now, he would never have her again. That she would disappear in a flash of light and a shimmer of feathers. An angel couldn't fall forever, eventually she would be swept back into heaven were she belonged, leaving those left behind feeling bereft of her presence.

CENSORED

She fell beneath him, like a virgin beneath a bloody dagger, a sacrifice to his demon appetites. He wanted to stop, to hold back, but he couldn't. CENSORED

When he came it was as if the mortal realm was ripped away, and for a moment he saw heaven. A frothing of white clouds, a shining beacon of light, and the mighty thunder of God's voice. It roared until it shattered his skull and darkened his sight, plunging him headlong into nothingness. Beside him he heard the shriek of Bulma's voice, an awareness of agony and ecstasy, mingling together in a bath of oblivion. He reached for her, curling his fingers in hers as they fell back to reality.

Vegeta fought against darkness of unconsciousness, he forced his eyes open, ignoring the stabbing pain of light, and the burn of his lungs as he breathed. Beneath him he felt the struggling rise and fall of Bulma's chest, and the harsh pant of her breath from her lips. His eyes focused on her face beneath him. Her lips were red and swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her perfectly coifed hair was undone and streaming around her.

He was still inside her; the burning heat of her body was both scorching and irresistible. He wanted to ride her again, to feel the flow of her innocent life beneath him again, to reach out and touch heaven one more time. He moved against her, and her startled eyes shot open. Her sapphire eyes were the bluest he had ever seen them, almost electric neon with her orgasmic passion. Deep beneath the passion in her eyes, he also saw the dark bruise of overuse. He wanted her again, and he would have her, but first she needed to recover. He had used her harshly, and she had loved every moment of it, but to do so again would be cruel.

Slowly he withdrew from her, his eyes screwing tight in pain, his lower back aching. CENSORED Echoing his pained grunt was Bulma's agonizing whimper. She may not be able to take him one more minute, but it hurt her to have him go.

He stepped back from the edge of the bed, tucking himself inside of his pants while quickly make his way to the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth, resting one knee on the bed, as he leaned over to press it to Bulma's center. She sighed in instant relief, her eyes opening once again to meet his dark gaze. Her kiss-swollen lips lifted at the corner, blissful satisfaction radiating off her. Her eyes drifted closed again, and Vegeta felt a heavy weight being lifted from him. For a terrifying moment, he thought he had been too rough with her, that he had hurt her. The last thing he wanted was for her to look on him with fear, but instead she smiled, sighing with female satisfaction that sent his heart racing.

He quickly cleaned her up, soothing her well-used flesh, and pulling the gown down around her legs. He quickly scanned the expensive dress, deciding that it had been well worth the money spent on it. Aside from being a little wrinkled it was unharmed, having survived its rough handling during their lovemaking. Without remorse or warning, Vegeta reached down, banding his strong fingers around Bulma's wrist, dragging her from the bed.

"What the f… Vegeta. What are you doing?" she hissed in very real displeasure. She had been ready to fall asleep in a cocoon of soothing relaxation that always overtook her after lovemaking.

"We are late. Try to make yourself presentable, woman. We have a party to get to," he growled, his heavily lidded eyes betraying that he would rather be back in bed with her, than ordering her to get ready.

Knowing he was right, and unable to protest, Bulma stomped back to the bathroom to see if she could repair her hair and make-up. Five minutes later, Vegeta was pounding on the door, demanding that they leave that instant. She swept out of the bathroom, talking his proffered arm without a word, as they walked from their rooms. A single curl of blue hair straggled down the center of Bulma's back, the only evidence that the simple French twist she now wore, wasn't nearly as sophisticated as her earlier coif had been.


	25. The Prince and the Swine

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or the characters therein, but I do enjoy manipulating them.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Prince and the Swine

"Prince Vegeta and Consort."

Vegeta growled, a malicious sound that cracked in the air around him. Of all the things that the herald could have said, consort was the worse. Guest would have been best, even her name would have done, but to announce her as his consort was disastrous and dangerous.

He must have done something in his past to piss the herald off, humiliated him or murdered a family member, something that would have encouraged him to risk getting fried on the spot. The man was obviously playing the odds that Vegeta wouldn't risk the wrath of Frieza at the party, and that his plate would be too full after his announcement to seek him out later. He played the odds and won. With one last glare at the traitorous herald Vegeta swept Bulma out into the crowd before they burned her alive with their stares.

As they passed, murmurs of shock and awe rippled through the crowd around them, gathering momentum with every word. It crashed upon the buttress of the Cold family as they stood upon their raised dais. Behind them a panel of floor to ceiling windows showcased a dazzling scene of diamond stars cradled in velvet blackness, outlining their reptilian bodies against the darkness, enhancing their oppressive presence.

The three Ice-jinn gathered together, a triad of evil that even the coldest of hearts feared. The whispers of gossip died down under the glare of their eyes that watched the Saiyan Prince and his Consort disappear into the waves of people gathered beneath them.

King Cold's jaw tightened with ill contained anger as he recognized the tunic that Vegeta wore, and the jewels that adorned it. He could not believe that after so many years of servitude that the dethrone prince would dare to rise up and attempt to claim his place. The title of Prince was a mockery, serving as a humiliating reminder of what he could never be. Instead of breaking under the weight of his ignominy, Vegeta defied them, taking the title as a cloak to wrap around his prideful shoulders, ignoring the sneers of scorn. But to wear the garb of his station in this setting was unforgivable.

The King glanced at his sons, his anger lapsing momentarily at the sight. Cooler was cracking his knuckles, looking ready to draw blood at the first imagined insult. Cold sighed deeply, wondering how he had ever sired such a tactless brute. His son had no charm or grace. Instead of instilling fear through manipulation and subtle torment he preferred to throw his weight around, brainless and huffing like a great bull on the hoof.

Cooler would never excel in the position of leadership that Frieza had already shown aptitude for. His second born son was a true child of his loins. His grace was unmatched, his wit stunning, and his ability to inspire terror was legendary.

King Cold's dark-purple lips stretched in a grimace of a smile that was bone-chilling. Just as the corners of his mouth began to curl in glee they stopped, the smile melting of his face like honey in the sun. Frieza stood next to him, blank, lifeless, utterly void. His cold, hard eyes were unseeing, dismissing the splashing colors and glittering jewels around him. Frieza desired beauty above all things, a precious treasure that he coveted with ardor. But the sights that would normally enthrall him elicited none of the signs of his usual adulation.

Cold's smile turned into a frown, as he glared at his son. His ire at Vegeta was forgotten as new problems filtered though his mind. There was something wrong with Frieza, something terrible. That should have filled him with a sense of paternal concern, but it did not. Instead he worried for the state of his empire. He was too old to sire anymore children, and there was no one suitable enough to take the throne once he passed.

He could not imagine Cooler attempting anything as complicated as running an empire. Along with being a brute, the boy was an idiot, completely lacking in the mental acuity one needed to rule. That left only Frieza, his second born and most likely to secede him. However, arrangements could be made if either son could not assume the throne upon his death.

King Cold eyed his children callously. If Frieza was irreparably damaged from his battle, then it was imperative that he be put down before anyone found out. Things would have to be put to rights quickly before any suggestions of weakness could be forged. An empire could not be lost due to the failings of a few replaceable offspring.

Uncaring of the intrigue that was swirling around him, Vegeta led Bulma through the heart of the throng towards the buffet table. The only benefit of attending one of the soirées was the food. At least, it was always expertly prepared and never lacking. The tantalizing food was heaped in mounds, tempting nearby guests with sweet smells and delicious flavors.

Bulma was absorbed in the visions of sound and color that surrounding her. Never in her life had she thought that she would attend an alien ball. Creatures of all shapes, sizes and _colors_ swept by her. A crimson woman in a vermillion dress, a black lizard in a violet suit, even a perfectly normal person by Bulma's standards walked by, except that they appeared to be completely asexual.

The people around her danced to exotic music, their steps intricate, but graceful. Some lined the walls where they ate or drank, laughing with their partners, and more than once she saw them shoot sly glances her way. Everything seemed normal to her, but the atmosphere was heavy with something dangerous, anticipation was like an offending odor in the air. Since they had walked in the room, every single person was waiting for something---a tiger stalking its prey.

Her pace slowed so she could take in everything, but Vegeta insistently tugged on her arm. His fingers were bracket around her wrist like a stamp of possession, and he showed no signs of letting her go. She wondered what could happen to her in the middle of so many people, but she had learned to trust him when it came to the ship's inhabitants. There was no one here that she could trust, no one whom she could be safe with, except Vegeta.

She glanced over his shoulder, eager to see where he was leading her. She saw an endless line of tables overflowing with exotic food that made her mouth water. She realized that she had yet to eat that day. She had been so busy with shopping, preparing for the party, and being seduced by Vegeta that she never gotten around to fixing a meal. She picked up her pace, just as eager as he to eat.

She was concentrating so hard on their goal that she slammed right into Vegeta's broad back as he came to an abrupt stop. She looked up, her blood turning to ice water in her veins, freezing her heart until she was sure that it would drop out of her chest and into her belly.

In front of them stood Zarbon, resplendent in a gold tailored vest with matching slacks. A silken cream shirt bloused down his arms, nipping in at the wrist before dripping in a lacy waterfall. More lace bubbled at his throat, spilling down his front, and was decorated with pearls and diamonds. His usual silver diadem was replaced with an intricately spiraling, gold crown that was encrusted with jewels. He looked every inch a blooded aristocrat, but even with all his finery he still could not outmatch Vegeta's royal poise.

He must have realized that because his lips curved into an unbecoming sneer. He quickly wiped it off his face, adopting a blank look that was devised to leave behind as little lines as possible. His amber eyes, however, glowed like corrupted jewels in torchlight when they caught sight of Bulma.

Vegeta growled, his body tense and dangerous. The thought of any man looking at Bulma made him angry; the thought of Zarbon looking at her really _pissed_ him off.

"What do you want?" Vegeta's words were harsh and clipped. He didn't even take the time to convey an insult, proof to how angry he was.

Zarbon observed him coolly, unruffled by the other man's open hostility. In fact he seemed to revel in it, bathing in it unabashedly. Bulma wanted to nudge Vegeta, to tell him not to play the other man's game, but she couldn't without directing more of his attention towards her.

"Your companion is very charming in her red dress, but I do prefer her in the throes of agony."

Zarbon pinned her with his burning eyes, spreading cold dread in the pit of her stomach. She edged closer to Vegeta, instinctively seeking him as a shelter of protection. Zarbon's callous reminder of what he had done to her lanced her like a knife to a fetid boil. She felt Vegeta tense; his rock hard muscles become even harder with his hate. She fought to remover herself from her fear, to lend Vegeta her spiritual support. She placed a calming hand in the center of his back between his shoulder blades, reminding him that she was there, solid and comforting.

Zarbon noticed the tensing of Vegeta's muscles and the grim set of his features that heralded the Prince's loss of control. Zarbon's mocking grin spread across his lips, delighted malevolence apparent on every vividly beautiful feature of his face.

"Every time I approached her with the electro stick her eyes would widen and her pupils dilated so becomingly. Her flesh would quiver delightfully, and when I touched her…Well it sounded like angels falling from heaven. It was beautiful."

Vegeta's hands curled into deadly fists, his tight muscles bunching under his blue tunic. He rocked forward on his toes in a fighter's stance, his firm lips set into an angry grimace. Bulma could feel his lethal intent billowing off of him in waves. His anger was so thick that it trailed down her throat, threatening to suffocate her with hate. She had to do something quickly, before Vegeta did something that he would regret.

Taking a deep breath, expanding her lungs, bolstering her courage, she stepped around Vegeta, sliding her hand over his shoulder to rest on his upper chest. Leisurely she cocked her hip, her red lips bowing, amusement tilting them at the corners. Her sparkling eyes pinned Zarbon, no hint of fear or intimidation in their depths.

"Really? I found the whole experience to be lacking."

Both men froze, shock at her bold words hardening their bodies. Zarbon's amber gaze shot from Vegeta to Bulma, barely able to hid his astonishment that she had found the courage to speak directly too him, much less challenge him. Slowly Vegeta tilted his head to the side, so he could slash a dark look at her from beneath the thickness of his lashes. The stony anger in his face remained, but Bulma could see the question in his eyes.

"I mean if you are going to be tortured you expect some pizzazz, some oomph." She used her free hand to express herself, thinking of all the big screen goddess she had seen over the years in the old black and white films. They had never been for a loss of words, even when confronted with the villain in the middle of a waltz.

"All you did was hold me down and jab me with a stick. There weren't even any chains involved. It wasn't very awe-inspiring at all."

She felt the muscles beneath her hand loosen as her words struck their intended target. Zarbon was dumbfounded. He could no longer hid it. His mouth gaped silently and his eyes bugged. The attractiveness of his features was lost as he gaped at the woman in front of him. Vegeta felt his anger melt away, amusement coming close on its heels. He would have never imagined that a woman would strip Zarbon of his arrogance in just a few well placed words, but Bulma had. She was definitely one of kind.

Zarbon regained himself quickly. He snapped his mouth shut, drawing himself up to tower over them. His handsome features hardened, his eyes snapped fire, but still he couldn't believe her words.

"What are you saying, woman?"

Bulma rolled her eyes, before dragging her gaze down Zarbon's body in a slow, disgusted perusal.

"I'm saying, Zarbon, that you just don't measure up. You are too much of a pretty boy to be scary." Bulma wiggled her fingers for good measure, visibly mocking him.

She turned into Vegeta's side, curving her body naturally into his. Automatically his arm came up to grasp her lightly around the waist as she perched herself on his side. Her hand caressed his chest, her fingers brushing against his jeweled medallion.

"Now, Vegeta here, he knows how to strike real terror into your heart. You're bad, Zarbon, but he's just plain wicked." She purred the last, rubbing against Vegeta like a contended cat.

Zarbon choked on his tongue, anger and shock strangling his voice. A ring of people had paused to watched the exchange, and now they twittered in amusement at her words. A dusky flush rose up Zarbon's cheeks, outraged that he had been publicly humiliated by some upstart alien girl, and a nothing, throneless prince.

The green man straightened, readying for an attack. Vegeta tensed in response, his fingers digging into Bulma's hip in preparation to throw her out of the way if necessary. Bulma braced herself, ready to leap from the fray, knowing distance was the only safety.

"Now, what's going on here?"

Vegeta whipped around, dragging Bulma with him. The Colds stood before them, their imperious gaze icing everyone in the room. The group of observers stepped back, but they didn't disband, in fact their watchful eyes became even more intense.

Bulma's pulse raced as she saw them. She knew that they must be the Colds because of everyone's reaction to them. They stood arrogantly in the center of the room, demanding adoration just by their mere presence.

Vegeta lengthened the distance between them, keeping firm grip on her hand. He bowed formally at the waist, but not too deeply Bulma observed. Instinctively, she dropped down into a curtsey, keeping her eyes lowered so not to draw too much attention to herself. Of course that was nearly impossible, especially in her stunning red dress.

"Well, well. What a beautiful consort you have chosen for yourself, Prince Vegeta." The tallest one in the center spoke, his eyes caressing every inch of her skin.

His black horns arched towards the ceiling, reminding her of the medieval pictures of the devil she had seen in textbooks. His purple scales glistened under the lamp light, royal velvet slicked with slime. Bulma shuddered as she stared at him, distaste and fear twisting in the pit of her stomach. She was certain that he must be the king, the only one whose shadow of maliciousness stretched further than Frieza's.

Vegeta's fingers tightened around hers, and she could feel his dismay from where she was standing.

"She's not…

"Zarbon is that any way to show respect?"

King Cold cut Vegeta off, ignoring him as he strode forward. His intent was to cut between them, separating Vegeta and Bulma from each other. At the last moment, Vegeta yanked on her wrist, pulling her forcefully to his side, nearly knocking her off her feet in an effort to keep them together.

King Cold strode passed, seemingly unaware of Vegeta's impertinence, but Bulma sincerely doubted it. Cold paused in front of Zarbon, who had yet to bow in the presence of the royal family.

Too late he remembered his mistake. He attempted to bow, but King Cold's blow was too swift. The fastidiously dressed man was knocked off his feet, hitting the ground several yards away and sliding back into the crowd.

Bulma gasped in shock, her body numb as Vegeta nudged her behind him protectively. She watched as Zarbon struggled to his feet, a thin line of crimson blood slipping down his chin.

King Cold pivoted away from the fallen man, dismissing him as nothing more than a fly that he swatted out of the way. She felt her blood turn icy as he fixed his obsidian gaze on Vegeta. She edged behind the shield of Vegeta's body, feeling slightly foolish, but unable to curb her fear.

"Interesting choice of attire, Prince Vegeta. Don't you think, Frieza?"

King Cold drifted near, pausing for his son's answer. When a reply wasn't immediate, all heads turned towards the youngest Ice-jinn tyrant. Frieza stood to the side, his gaze unfocused, and his expression chillingly serene.

"Frieza," Cold said sharply to gain his son's attention.

Frieza jerked awake, his second set of eye lids blinking with confusion.

"Yes, Father?"

In the background, quiet whispers laced their way through the crowd, but they quickly died a strangled death when King Cold glared at the observers. Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he looked at his sovereign. There was something wrong with Frieza. He obviously wasn't right. His demeanor was lax, his attention lagging. From the rumors on the ship, it seemed that Frieza had been acting oddly since they picked him up floating in space after his battle.

When Vegeta had first set eyes on Frieza he had been shocked. Eighty percent of his body was cybernetic, cold flesh replaced by colder steel. He barely recognized his Lord, the repairs were so extensive. Perhaps he was having trouble recovering from the surgery or maybe the battle damaged more than his body. Vegeta wasn't certain, but he knew for a fact that King Cold was trying to hide the extent of Frieza's abnormalities from the rest of the empire.

"Don't you think Vegeta's attire is interesting?"

Frieza's eyes flickered over to Vegeta, his gaze nearly empty of thought. The lizard shrugged, uncaring what his subordinate was wearing.

King Cold's face hardened into a mixture of disgust, anger and a pinch of fear. He whirled about, pinning his hateful gaze on Vegeta. Bulma thought they were going to burn up in an icy fire right on the spot there was so much anger in the King's eyes. She felt Vegeta tense beneath her hand, and she knew that something terrible was about to happen.

"You," King Cold pointed at Vegeta imperiously, "will come with me immediately."

Without waiting for an answer, he spun away, grabbing Frieza by the arm and sweeping him along behind him. The royal guards flowed around their King as he passed, their grim features pointed towards Vegeta.

Apprehensive, Vegeta glanced around him, looking for the nearest soldier. He reached out, latching his strong hand around the back of the neck of a nearby man. He couldn't remember the name of the soldier, but he had been on a few missions with him. Vegeta knew he was strong enough to fight most of the other warriors on the ship, but still weak enough to fear him.

"Take her back to my quarters."

Hearing Vegeta's words, Bulma stepped forward in a panic. "What? No, Vegeta. I want to stay with you."

He ignored her, continuing to give his instructions to the man. "You will escort her inside, and guard the door. If you or anyone else touches her, I'll rip off your head and drink you guts. Do I make myself clear?"

The man's eyes bulged, but he nodded diligently. Vegeta felt he could trust the man not to touch Bulma, and hopefully if anyone got any ideas about attacking her, he would be strong enough to hold them off for a time.

"Vegeta." Bulma wrapped her slender fingers around Vegeta's bare bicep, gaining his attention. Her blue eyes gazed pleadingly up at him, her face set and pale. "Please, Vegeta. I don't want to leave you alone."

Her words momentarily stilled him. He could understand if she had said that she didn't want to be left alone. After all she had finally learned what a dangerous place the universe was, but that wasn't what she said. She didn't want to leave _him_ alone. She knew something terrible was going to happen to him, and she wanted to protect him from it in any way possible.

"Go with him, Bulma. It will be safer for the both of us if you do." The royal guards surrounded Vegeta, making it known by their presence alone, that if he didn't pick up the pace that they would drag him. He darted a dark look at them before pulling Bulma close to whisper in her ear.

"Please."

The word was barely loud enough for her to hear, but the weight of it nearly crushed her. Unable to refuse, she nodded, her eyes filling with crystal tears. She stepped away, next to the man ordered to protect her. She watched as Vegeta was led away by the guards before she allowed herself to be drawn away from the party.

She dragged her feet as she walked down the halls, nearly engulfed by her grief. Vegeta had suffered so much in his life, and she hated the fact that she was unable to help him. Much too soon she was at the door to their quarters, the soldier staring at her expectantly.

She typed her code in the key pad, too distracted to notice that it didn't beep to confirm her override. The doors slid open, revealing the comfortable living area. She drifted inside, turning to relock the door after it closed, leaving her escort to guard her outside.

She lifted the hem of her gown, kicking off her shoes. The carpet was thick and soft tuffs poked up between her toes, massaging the soles of her feet. She looked up, thinking about getting something to drink from the modest bar across the room when she heard a clandestine sound. She twisted her head to the side, her eyes widening at what she saw.

Lounging on the white couch, Zarbon had already helped himself to a drink. His full lips were curved into an arrogant smile of victory that lit his eyes like tiny bonfires in hell. She noticed that the blood had been cleaned off his face, and that his clothes were straightened, but she could tell that his pride was still scuffed.

Zarbon glanced away to gaze at the drink he swirled in his tumbler. "We have a lot to talk about," he murmured quietly, his threat clear in the air between them.

"I can't imagine about what," she replied while judging the probability of her escape. Getting away would be unlikely she concluded. She had a feeling that this man was even quicker than Vegeta, someone she could never outrun.

Zarbon set his drink down, rising from the couch. His silk clothing sparkled in the light reminding her of worthless fool's gold that littered the beaches back home. She swallowed hard, wondering how long it would be until Vegeta returned. Perhaps she shouldn't have opened her mouth earlier. She had a feeling that she was about to eat her words.

"Oh, I'm sure that we are going to have plenty to say." Zarbon advanced on her, his shadow blocking the light from the lamp, suffocating her in the darkness.


	26. Stunning Duplicity

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

Welcome to the beginning of the end…

Chapter Twenty-Six

Stunning Duplicity

Vegeta felt like his flesh was going to fall off in thick, wet slices. Blood trickled down his arms and sides, plastering the remaining shreds of his skin to his back. His tunic was long gone, torn apart by the whip that lashed him mercilessly. Magically, he managed to retain his arm cuff and medallion, but only after enduring hours of punishment by his lizard masters. In the end it had been worth it. Even though he swore not to be torn from Bulma's side, the insight he had gained was invaluable.

Frieza was disturbed. During his battle on Namek he had become unhinged. King Cold was doing his best to hide his son's instability, but his actions were only making the problem more obvious. Vegeta's punishment session had been designed to draw Frieza out of his self-imposed shell, but even the sight of blood did nothing to stir the tyrant. Vegeta was thankful for that, but even he felt the slight chill of Frieza's sightless gaze. Grim satisfaction wove its way through him. The Cold Empire was on the brink of destruction, now if only he could find a way to exploit that weakness.

Vegeta tapped the door code to his quarters, entering with a heavy sigh of relief. Unable to bear the thought of Bulma being alone any longer he had come straight to her instead of stopping at the Regeneration Room. His wounds were severe, but his Saiyan metabolism would heal them in a matter of hours. The pain was well worth the cost of putting his mind at ease.

He lifted his head, expecting to see Bulma rushing towards him with concern shining in her eyes. Instead, the first thing he saw was the triumphant gaze of Zarbon as he stood behind the couch, his hand leisurely trailing through Bulma's blue tresses that fell like a waterfall from his fingertips. Her hair was loose from her intricate twist, tendrils twining around her seemingly passion-flushed face.

Vegeta's eyes scaled down hurriedly, expecting to find her bloodied and abused, however he couldn't be more wrong. She reclined on the couch, her body relaxed, her face serene. Delicately she sipped from a crystal flute with graceful ease, completely at home in her surroundings, with his blood-enemy caressing her intimately.

"What…?" He meant to choke out so much more but he couldn't find the words. His usual insults were lost in the barrage of his thoughts.

"I'm just enjoying a drink with Bulma here." Zarbon smiled coyly, his predatory gaze never leaving Vegeta's face.

_Bulma?_ Vegeta shot a look back at her disbelievingly. Since when did Zarbon call her Bulma? Since when did she sit so calmly under the touch of the man who tortured her?

"We've been having the most delightful little talk. I wanted to know what made you so _wicked._" Zarbon's insinuating tone and childlike voice sent shivers down Vegeta's spine. He felt blood cooling on his back, and the burn of the whip marks as he stood there rejecting what his eyes told him.

"She had many interesting things to say. Like how you came to her world to destroy it. How you murdered all her friends. How you stole her away from her family." Zarbon paused, taking in the impact of his words. Vegeta remained uncharacteristically stunned, as though he had been betrayed on some deep, primal level, something Zarbon thought the prince was incapable of.

"How you've sworn to take her life when you are done using her," Zarbon whispered, his voice silk on stone, soft snagging on rough.

Vegeta's eyes widened before narrowing. He couldn't tear his eyes from Bulma, willing her to glance up at him, and dismiss Zarbon's words with a single look---willing her not to betray him with his enemy.

Slowly, Bulma lifted her head, her body tranquil, her face remote. Her motions were deliberate, detached and hurtful. She centered her eyes squarely on her lover, disdain written clearly on every feature. Even the depths of her fiery gaze were icy as she looked upon him, freezing his newborn heart cold.

Bulma held herself still, forcing every muscle in her body to obey her. Inside, she could feel her heart shattering. The pieces flew around inside her like a whirlwind, sharp shards of shrapnel slashing her innards and cutting her soul. She couldn't possibly survive this moment. Her heart was going to burst from her chest, killing her in agony if she looked at Vegeta one more moment, if she had to endure his heartache for another second. His look shouted betrayal right before he shuttered it away behind his silent hate.

She wanted to leap up from the couch, and run to him---to scream that it was all a lie, not to believe a word that was said. She wanted to shuck her skin, to free her soul from the shackles of her flesh so she could seep into his pores and into the hollow spaces of his heart. She never wanted to leave him.

"Well, my dear, are you ready?" Zarbon slinked around the couch, stopping before her with his hand out. Without breaking her gaze with Vegeta, she placed her hand into his enemy's outstretched palm, accepting his embrace. She rose gracefully, coolly, a cold wind on a summer day.

Vegeta took a step forward, his face murderous, his body lethal. Power swirled around him, dark and deadly, snapping and seething. He was a storm to her tranquility.

"You're not going anywhere," he spat at her, his intent at stopping them both clear.

Zarbon moved before her, shielding her from the wrath of her lover, laughing in the face of his enemy. He clucked in concern, his face drawn with mock sadness.

"Now, now, Vegeta. Do you really think you can stop us in that condition?"

Vegeta's fists clenched, his jaw tightened. He took another step forward, hate wafting off him in waves. Bulma's heart clenched in response to his anger, to the agony he must be feeling over her betrayal. Blood was dripping down his bare arms, and was smeared across his muscular chest. Drops splattered the beautiful gold and platinum arm band that wrapped around his bulging bicep, blood and conquest, an embodiment of everything that was Saiyan. She could taste the bitter copper in the air, leaving her to wonder how he kept standing. The dark hollows under his eyes, and the sickly sweat on his face told her without words that she was making the right choice. Even if it was killing her.

"I can and I will, Zarbon," Vegeta swore, mindless of the danger.

Zarbon smiled indulgently, the corner of his lips curling with amusement, but the gaiety of his demeanor didn't warm the coldness of his eyes. He rocked forward on his toes, intent on sharing a secret with the fallen prince.

"Do you think you'll survive?" Zarbon paused, waiting for his words to sink in. "Frieza is unhinged, the Cold family is in turmoil. Do you think your order of protection stands?"

Vegeta remained still under the mocking gaze of his enemy. What Zarbon said was true. Many times in his past he had tried to provoke a fight that would end in his demise, an honorable, Saiyan way to die, but he had always been thwarted. No one dare land the killing blow for fear of Frieza's retribution, but now all that changed. Now he was free to die like had wanted to so many times in the past. The only problem was, now he didn't want to.

All he wanted was to live long enough to kill _her_.

Vegeta's piercing raven eyes skimmed passed Zarbon, dismissing him as unimportant to the drama that was unfolding around him. They landed on Bulma, crushing her with the weight of his hate and disgust. She felt a little bit of her soul shrivel, dying under his intense look of loathing. She fought to stand straight, to bear the blunt of his hate. She told herself that it was for the best. She told herself that she loved him, even if he didn't love her.

Disgruntled that he had lost Vegeta's attention so abruptly, Zarbon struggled to regain it.

"You know I'm the better warrior. Stronger, quicker, more deadly," Zarbon taunted, but Vegeta barely gave his words the attention they deserved. Instead he was locked in a mental battle with his former lover.

The one person he thought would never betray him.

When had he drawn that conclusion? When had the inevitability of her disloyalty changed into what he thought was her undying affection? When he saved her from the trader? From the purge? From the poison that ravaged her body?

Was it the first time that he touched her? When he slid his hand between her legs and felt her heat? Was that when she seduced him? When she cast her spell on him? Or had it been all the way back in the beginning when he paced his cell, looking for a way out and only seeing the brightness of her soul and the beauty of her smile. Is that when he had been lost?

How wrong he had been. He, the royal prince of Vegeta-sei had thought himself too clever to fall for the tricks of a single woman, but here he stood. He had been willing to lay everything at her feet. His jewels, his blood, even his trust, just for a taste from her lips, and now she was going to walk out the door with his enemy as if nothing ever happened between them.

The bitch was going to pay.

But not here, not now. Zarbon was right. As much as it bruised his pride, he still wasn't strong enough to defeat Frieza's bodyguard. If he engaged Zarbon now there was a chance that he would be defeated, that she would be able to walk away from her treachery unscathed. That was something he dared not risk. Her punishment was paramount to his pride. Perhaps very soon that day would come to pass when he would be able to crush Zarbon. And when it did he would tear the green freak limb from limb, but before that day came, he would have his chance at Bulma.

He would feel her last breath on his cheek, and her hot blood splashing on his hands. He would be there when the light of life died from her eyes, and he would laugh while it did.

Wordlessly, Vegeta stepped aside, surprising everyone in the room. Slowly Zarbon moved forward, twisting his body so not to give Vegeta his back. He couldn't believe the prideful prince was going to let them leave without raising a fist to stop them. The entire point of the exercise was to see if he could goad the prince into a fight. To see how hard he would fight to keep the woman.

The look in Vegeta's eyes sent slings of agony through her heart. She was destroyed. Vegeta's love for her had turned to hate in the single endless moment. She would never be able to recapture the love she had felt with him. She would never see the hidden man inside the murderer that she had glimpsed on a rare occasion. Instead all she could see was the cold warrior who purged worlds and killed billions. Prince Vegeta was back, and he would never be exorcised again.

She exited the room with Zarbon, fighting to keep her tears at bay. She couldn't believe what she had just done. Was sacrificing her heart, and Vegeta's soul really worth saving his life? Would it have been better to watch him die, to lie down beside him in blood, than to see result of her actions written in the wounds of his eyes?

To save him, she had betrayed him, but in reality had she just condemned them both to a living hell?

Zarbon's words rang inside her head. He had come to Vegeta's quarters to kill him. To destroy the man who dared to humiliate him in front of his peers. Cold certainty had covered her body in a sweat as she looked at the man who stood before her. He was her death, as certain as the sun would rise and a new day dawn, he was the man who was going to kill her.

She ran, he caught, she fought, he subdued. She was certain that it was the end, that he would rape her, kill her, and leave her in her own blood for Vegeta to find. She cried out her savior's name, hoping against hope that he would hear her, that he would save her once again. He didn't come, but he did save her---one last time

Now it was her turn to do the same.

Upon hearing his enemy's name Zarbon paused, calculation and maliciousness brightening his eyes. Humiliation, he decided was its own painful death. At the party Bulma had been announced to everyone as Vegeta's consort. The one he wished to share his life with. How deliciously torturous would it be, if she agreed to become Zarbon's paramour instead? To turn her back on Vegeta, to taunt her lover with the knowledge that she betrayed him with his worst enemy. How destroyed would the prideful prince be?

It was then a dreadful bargain was struck. In return for Vegeta's life, she was to play the deceitful whore.

Zarbon knew their secret. The secret of who she was, of what she was, of where Vegeta had been all this time. If King Cold or Frieza found out that Vegeta had been associating with humans, no matter how unwilling, he would die. Of this she was certain.

If Vegeta tried to stop Zarbon from talking then he would die. If Zarbon told the Colds, then he would die. There was no escaping the inevitable, there was only manipulating it.

She knew Zarbon was stronger than Vegeta. She didn't listen to the boastful words that dripped from the snake's tongue, but she instead, to what Vegeta hadn't said when he spoke of Zarbon.

Before the party, Vegeta told her of the coo that Zarbon and Cooler were planning. His words were plain, his mind analytical, but she could hear the hint of concern behind them. Zarbon was a enemy that Vegeta hated, someone he wished to kill, but could not. Like Frieza, Zarbon was too powerful to defeat. Instead Vegeta had to dance around them both, struggling to stay alive long enough to destroy them.

With that single thought, she set her heart and mind to double-crossing Vegeta. To betray him long enough that he could reach his goal. So he could survive to kill those who enslaved him. She may break his heart, but in the end, hopefully she could help free his body and mind.

She followed Zarbon blindly, barely noticing as the entered his rooms. As part of the bargain she claimed the right to see Vegeta at least once a day to be sure that he hadn't been killed or thrown into a cell, in return, during those moments she must pretend that she was fully in lust with Zarbon.

One moment of bliss, one moment of agony, all rolled into one.

She paused as she realized she was standing in the middle of a suite of decadently decorated rooms. Gold trim danced along the walls, red carpet pillowed her feet, and baroque style chairs sat before her.

Zarbon turned, his fingers latching around her wrists to pull her to his chest. His lips descended towards hers, but she quickly twisted away with a snort of disgust.

"Put one foul paw on me, and I will tell Frieza about your partnership with Cooler."

Zarbon drew back in surprise, his mouth pursed into a moue of astonishment.

"What do you know of it?" he asked with a disbelieving snort.

"What I know or don't know isn't a question. It's a seed of truth, and all it needs is to be planted." Bulma turned to face him, her eyes narrowed into slivers of blue ice. Now that she had gotten Zarbon from Vegeta's room she could play her full hand safely.

"It's of no importance. No one will believe the slut of Vegeta," Zarbon scoffed confidently. His smile wilted off his face when he caught sight of Bulma's cold, calculating smile. Now the reason for her betrayal could be revealed.

"That is true, but I am not Vegeta's slut. I am your paramour. Everyone is going to believe that I detest Vegeta with all my heart. After all, why else would I betray him to be with you?" She turned away with a leisurely shrug, taking in her surroundings.

After a few steps of distance between them she looked back at Zarbon, her finger tracing over the back of a nearby chair.

"All I have to do is let the little secret slip." She placed a bemused finger at her chin, her eyes batting innocently. "After all, everyone knows that the words of a well-sated man while in bed with a beautiful woman, are the most truthful."

"You fucking bitch," he snarled, advancing on her with his fist raised.

She scrambled away quickly, toppling the chair between them.

"Kill me and Vegeta will tear apart this ship, destroying everything that you hold dear," she cried in a rush, her eyes wide with fright.

He paused, his lips curling in blatant amusement. "Still clinging to what you don't have, little girl? You destroyed all hope of Vegeta ever coming to your rescue." He laughed heartily at her stricken look and wide eyes. "Do you actually think that he loves you that much, even now? That he'll risk everything just to avenge you?"

Bulma straightened her spine, and set her shoulders confidently. Her blue eyes flashed as she met his gaze steadily.

"I know he doesn't, but I do know that he places value on my death." Her words were a death knell in the quiet room. They were spoken with the whispered solemnity of a mausoleum. "You see, he has already claimed my death. He owns it, as surely as he owns his boots. The blood, the violence, my last gasping breath on his lips."

She paused, shuddering delicately before lifting her chin with pride that she didn't feel. The burning heat of Vegeta's scorn was seared into her mind as she had walked out the door. She knew the reason that he let them pass without a fight. She saw the determination in Vegeta's look, the absolute certainty that he would be claiming her last breath very soon.

"Even now he is furious, more than likely plotting to kill me at his next chance,' she vowed with a certainty that chilled even Zarbon's blood.

"I can see him wanting to murder you. Especially after you so callously left him, but to wreck so much havoc in the name of your death. I find that hard to believe." Zarbon's words were mocking, but inside he felt a tremble of indecision.

"Not in the name of my death, not in revenge, but for pride. If my death is stolen from him then he would have no choice but to seek retribution against you, no matter the cost."

Zarbon inhaled sharply, drawing his body away from her. Her words rang with a truth that could not be denied. There was one thing that every single soldier on the ship knew to be a fact. Vegeta loved his pride more than he loved his own life.

"You know Vegeta, perhaps better than I. He is no delicate creature to go plotting your death silently. His rage would rock the entire ship. Every eye would be drawn to him, and even if he is defeated, I have no doubt that your secret will be revealed. Frieza's rage will be doubled not only by the death of his favorite toy, but by your deceit." Bulma completed her speech with her head held high, and victory shinning in her eyes.

Zarbon eyed her with disgust, anger curling his lips into a sneer. She was right of course. She may have won the battle, but the war was only just beginning. Her words stayed his hand from her soft flesh, but he still could use her as a weapon against Vegeta. Tomorrow would be just the beginning. He couldn't wait to parade his new prize through the halls, reconfirming to everyone in sight, that he was indeed the superior male.

"You may sleep on the floor," Zarbon announced with as much pride as possible. With his nose in the air, he turned on his heel, sweeping into the other room, leaving Bulma alone in the dark, with only her regrets for company.


	27. Damned

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I've been working 12 hour days, and have very little free time. However, all your reviews keep me going. I'm so glad that you are enjoying the story so far, and I hope that I can keep you interested. Let me know what you think.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Damned

Bulma was in hell.

She hadn't seen Vegeta in two days. She had dutifully made her appearance in public as Zarbon's new ladylove, and not unsurprisingly, she was a triumph. She bemoaned to everyone in ear shot how the Saiyan prince had abused her, tormenting her horribly before her glorious savior came to rescue her. Everyone was convinced, without a doubt, that she hated Vegeta with a vengeance, and doted on Zarbon as her one and only love. Effectively trapping the man in his own lie, and sealing his fate. By now, he could do nothing but play the role she had exiled him too, which he did with as much gusto as possible, especially in front of Vegeta.

At first she thought that Vegeta was going to explode (taking the entire ship with him) the first time he laid eyes on her and Zarbon. Instantly, before she could protest, the reptile dragged her up into a kiss that was reminiscent of a sweeping, black and white cinema. She nearly gagged at the taste of his lips, and when he tried to shove his tongue in her mouth she clamped her teeth together so tightly her jaw muscles spasmed, preventing her from speaking for nearly an hour.

Zarbon's performance had the desired effect though. Vegeta reined in his intense anger at the sight of them, stalking off with clenched fists, and a black aura of hate swirling around him. Bulma didn't see much of him after that, but she was able to catch glimpses of him at least once a day to assure herself that he was still living, if not thriving.

But now it had been two days. She had swept the entire ship for him (in the areas that she was allowed) and found nothing. Being Zarbon's paramour gained her a certain amount of freedom she discovered, more than with Vegeta. When she walked by, men looked the other way, and woman (and some men too) glared at her enviously. Zarbon was obviously a few rungs up the social ladder from Vegeta, solidify in her mind that she made the right choice. Although she had only been there for a short while, she had already figured out that raw, physical strength designated superiority.

At the moment, she stood before a bank of windows, glaring out into the offending darkness of space. Her clothing reflected her mood, black leather pants poured over her legs, and a corset ribbed with bone held her spine straight. Since being separated from Vegeta, she only wore black, and only the clothes that reminded her of their time together on her ship, _Isis._ In fact, her scowl was so dark that she had a sneaking suspicion that the reason people avoided her had more to do with her mood than being Zarbon's female. People were starting to fear her. A woman, who had _bedded_ two of the most dangerous men on the ship, must be dangerous herself. Especially when it looked like she could chew barbed wire and piss napalm.

She heard the doors slide open, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in distaste. She knew that he was standing behind her, staring at her through corrupted amber eyes. Their intense distaste for each other had grown over the days. The spectacle she had made of their engagement enraged him to the point where he no longer accompanied her on her outings. He left her to fend for herself amongst the wolves, having no idea how dangerous that could be…to him.

In his absence she had done a great deal with her time. She was no slouch when it came to learning, and her brilliant mind was able to absorb information at a super-computer capacity. She had managed to hack the main frame for the ship, teach herself how to read and write the universal language, and memorized the standard operating procedures for most of the independent systems. Next, she intended to download the science log, and learn everything she could about the aliens she now lived among.

"We need to talk." Her words tinkled like water over ice, cold and hard.

She turned to face him, unsurprised that his eyes scaled down her body in repulsion. A creature of beauty, he couldn't stand the drab colors she dressed herself in. He glanced up, his face flickering with unease as he met her eyes. She smiled inwardly, crowing in victory at their reversal of power. Now she was the one calling the shots. She had him by the balls and he knew it. The problem was, now she couldn't let go lest he strike with deadly precision. She knew the secret of his perfidy against Frieza, and he knew that she was human. No matter how much it disgusted them both, they were forced to remain in close proximity of each other.

"I don't see what we have to talk about, love. In fact, I'm confident that we both have nothing to say to each other." His eyes flitted down to her custom-made pants, noting that they more than likely cost him a small fortune. The very first day she had made it clear that she had no problem spending his money, buying everything from clothing to furniture. Anything to piss him off and put a dent into his finances. Sadly, she drew the line at jewelry, the only thing that would have any hope of brightening her dreary garb. For some reason she had an intense and instant disliking to any gems that he brought her.

"I haven't seen Vegeta in two days," she grit out, uncaring that he was more concerned with mentally balancing his checkbook.

"Oh, well. I'm sure he's around." Zarbon waved his hand in the air, pivoting away from her to pour himself a drink at the bar. Bulma's ice-blue eyes narrowed, anger, instant and hot, pumping through her veins at his blasé attitude.

"That isn't part of the deal, Zarbon," she seethed, her teeth tightly clenched together.

"I can't help it if he decides to hide in his rooms like a sniveling, heart-sick worm," Zarbon snapped back uncharacteristically. Realizing what he done, he slammed down his drinking, inhaled deeply, and attempted to exhale with some measure of calm. He didn't like expressing himself with any sort of depth of emotion. Emotion led to outburst, and outbursts led to microscopic lines around the mouth and brow area. Age was not a beautiful man's best friend, and he had to be sure to starve off the signs of it for as long as possible.

"Listen up, you little puss weed. I know for a fact that Frieza is lunching at the Bella Starr Ristorante on deck five. I'm going to find him, and speak to him about Vegeta. You can either come with me or I'll do it alone," she threatened with as much conviction as possible. This as it turned out, was quite a bit.

Zarbon slammed his fist down next his glass, splashing liquid over his cuffs. For once he didn't notice as he whirled around to face his greatest adversary, _his woman_. After this, he swore that he would never again look at another female for as long as he lived. It was painstakingly clear that they were all spawns from a deeper, darker hell than he thought ever existed.

"I'm going to fucking kill you someday!" he screamed through clenched teeth, forgetting about microscopic facial lines.

Bulma leaned in; hands on hips as she met him nose to nose. "Not if I kill you first," she hissed with promise.

Zarbon's eyes widened a fraction before he remembered himself. He turned away with a sneer pretending to fret of the state of his soiled cuff. Bulma rolled her eyes, and headed for the door, more to hide her face from Zarbon than to exit. Her words disturbed her on a deep, emotional level. The longer she stayed with these people, the longer she traveled the universe, the more bloodthirsty she was becoming. She was afraid that she was going to lose a part of herself very soon. A part that she may not be able to live without.

"Frieza hasn't left his rooms in weeks. What makes you think that he is going to be at this restaurant?"

She paused, looking over her shoulder at him before shrugging in dismissal. "From what I head he had a change of heart about _two_ days ago," she hissed with emphasis, raising her fingers in a vee. "A sudden and unexpected lightening of his mood," she mocked, repeating what someone had said to her. "Whatever was bothering him; apparently he's gotten over it, and is back to his old villainous self."

She didn't really know what that meant. The only Frieza she had seen was the lifeless, slightly dazed doll from the party. A shiny machine overlaid with the barest of white skin. Something that was ugly, but hardly seemed dangerous. She knew that appearances could be deceiving, but she had yet to fear the monster that everyone quaked over.

Zarbon tried to hide his frown from her but she saw it. She knew what he was thinking. If Frieza had broken out of his stupor two days ago, why hadn't he called his favorite bodyguard to attend him?

"Wait right there. Let me change my shirt," Zarbon snapped without glancing her way. He strode to his rooms to change, leaving her to wait impatiently.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the restaurant where Frieza was dining, Zarbon immaculately dressed as ever, while Bulma scowled at the nearby waiter. Without a word, Zarbon led them through the crowd to farthest, and best seat in the house.

"Zarbon, my pet!" Frieza rose from behind the table, his arms outstretched, and a happy grin on his face. Bulma almost didn't recognize him. Gone was the shell-shocked, childlike entity, and in its placed stood an effervescent, nearly-giddy tyrant.

She could practically feel Zarbon light up with happiness at the sight of his master. He strode to the lizard's side, as elated as a puppy that was about to get its belly rubbed. Frieza didn't disappoint him. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, shaking him slightly in welcome before kissing him on the mouth.

One sleek, blue brow raised in question as she watched the exchange. Their relationship was becoming clearer every second. She wondered how her presence would play out between the lovers. How awkward would it be to be the other woman in a three-way, love triangle with tyrannical superpowers?

They sat together, Zarbon as close to his master as possible, leaving Bulma to stand at the edge of the table. Frieza looked up, his fuchsia-glazed eyes boring holes through her white skin. He quirked the corner of his mouth in question, glancing at his lover.

"This is Bulma," Zarbon introduced without preamble.

"You seem familiar, dear girl."

"Yes, well you might have seen me..." she started to explain, but he quickly cut her off, dismissing her as unimportant, and returning his attention to Zarbon. Unsure of what else to do, she dropped down into the empty seat next to her 'lover', and scanned the rest of the table's occupants.

On the other side of Frieza sat the biggest pink blob she had ever seen. He was hideous, the way a pink-frilled maid-of-honor gown would be or a piece of wadded up chewing gum. She wanted to tear her eyes away, but his bright, grotesque body captured her gaze not unlike a car wreck. She forced herself to glance away, taking in a white-coat-clad gentleman who looked distinctly uncomfortable. She recognized him instantly as a fellow scientist.

"I have found the secret to immortality, Zarbon."

That statement got her complete and undivided attention. She whipped around to face Frieza, absorbing every word he said. What she saw was disturbing. The empty shell had been replaced with a maniacal, edgy, wide-eyed, cracked-out maniac. His hands flew around as he talked, his eyes darting between Zarbon and the rest of the room. His very presence made her jittery with nervous energy.

"But first I have to figure out how to obtain the Legendary for myself. And I think I've figured it out."

The Legendary? What was this guy talking about? She was starting to see why everyone feared the small lizard. He was clearly insane. Even the aura around him was sickening, infecting all those around him, making them queasy and uncertain.

"How, my Lord?" Zarbon asked, his body facing his master in complete attention, but she did notice the shadow of concern in his eyes. However Frieza was acting, it wasn't normal either. The man went from lifeless to overdrive in sixty seconds, unsettling everyone that knew him.

"I must recreate the circumstances on Namek. The one. That Saiyan. Somehow he managed to become the Legendary, and I intend on finding out how."

Zarbon sat back aghast. His normally smooth face was wrinkled in open confusion as he stared at Frieza. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After a few seconds of working his jaw, he reformulated his question, and tried again.

"There was a Saiyan on Namek?" he squeaked, still uncertain if that was the right question he should be asking.

Bulma sat up even straighter, knowing that Frieza was talking about Goku. Besides Vegeta, he was the only other Saiyan left in the universe. Did that mean that he experienced some sort of transformation while on Namek? Did he turn into the Legendary that everyone was talking about?

"Yes, some throw-back, third-world orphan. He transformed right before my eyes, and I intend to find out how he did it." Frieza fisted his hand, turning his simple statement into a sworn oath.

"But you killed him, right?" Zarbon asked, still incredulous.

Bulma's heart jumped up into her throat, blocking all the air into her lungs. Her friends, Krillan and Gohan. Her best friend, Goku. She had been so confident in their survival that she had never considered that they didn't make it. She had always assumed that they escaped Namek before it exploded.

"Of course, I did." Frieza's gaze shifted away from Zarbon, and bore holes into the table before him. His words wavered slightly, but no one heard it.

Bulma's world came crashing down on her. _NO!_ She wanted to scream as loudly as she could. It couldn't be possible. Her friends could not be dead. It wasn't possible for Goku to be beaten. It just wasn't possible. Her despair was tangible, engulfing her with every breath she took. Her blood was thudding in her ears so loud that she almost missed Frieza's next words.

"I'm going to have his power though. I'm going to find the secret to the Legendary, and Vegeta is going to help me."

It was her turn to look aghast as she stared at Frieza. His earlier disquiet was forgotten as he raised his wineglass for a self-congratulatory toast. Quickly, Zarbon, the pink freak, and the scientist hurried to join him. Only Bulma was left to stare at him like he had lost his mind.

"How?" she whispered out loud, too stunned to contemplate her own survival. Frieza, however, was pleased at the question.

"Trulock, here, already has him in his lab, running all sorts of nasty experiments on him. He assures me that he will have the secrets to Ascension by the end of the week," Frieza boasted, wineglass still raised.

All eyes were drawn to the slight, nervous scientist who was looking quite a bit less than confident. Beads of sweat rolled down his pale, tight face, and his spine was holding him rigidly still in his seat. A slight trembling in his hands belied the tranquility that he was attempting to project, making him look like a nervous rat hiding from a hungry cat. Bulma pinned him with narrowed eyes full of predatory, cat-like intensity.

"Really," she drawled, her brilliant mind reviewing and discarding ideas as quickly as she could think of them. She came to one, absolute conclusion. She had to, by any means necessary, become the new head scientist for Frieza's project.

"What have you learned so far?" she questioned smoothly, her utter confidence gaining everyone's attention. Especially when contrasted against Trulock's blatant nervousness.

"Well, umm, let's see." He paused to mop his forehead with a napkin, buying time he didn't have. "Saiyans are quite strong. They seem to gain strength when they are under the full moon." He paused, waiting for some sort of recognition to his brilliant deduction. The pink slob didn't disappoint him.

"We all know that, you moron. Anything else?" he spat, unaware of the deadly glare that Frieza cast his way. Disparaging the scientist that Frieza had put his trust into could be dangerous, Bulma observed, and she knew she had to tread carefully.

When Trulock didn't answer right away, Bulma broke in, her voice as smooth as brandy, and just as potent.

"Well, did you know that Saiyans are weak to Astatine? It's potentially deadly to them," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Uh, Asta-what?"

"Astatine." She looked at him like he was a microbe under a microscope, curiously and intensely. When he indicated with a small shake of his head that he still didn't know what she was talking about she elaborated.

"It's created during bombardment of the bismuth isotope with α-particles such as the helium nuclei. This results in formation of short-lived astatine and neutrons. The bismuth target is cooled during irradiation to prevent the volatile astatine from disappearing." She knew she sounded like a science text book, but she at least expected the _scientist_ across from her to understand. When his eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, she knew that he didn't. Feeling a little lost, she tried a simpler explanation.

"You know, it's a byproduct of a nuclear…" she trailed off, finally understanding that they had no idea what she was talking about.

"Nuclear…" Trulock repeated the word that eluded him. He would have said more but a blinding flash of light blinked him out of existence. There wasn't even a smattering of ash left of him to drift onto their food. Bulma blinked, certain that the blank space that she was staring at used to be a man.

"So, Bulma, tell me how you know about this." She turned her head to find Frieza gazing at her, his elbows on the table, and his chin resting lightly on the tops of his folded hands. She had a tingly feeling of déjà vu that reminded her of her many job interviews. Usually she was on the other side of the table. However, the same principles still applied; there was an open position that suddenly needed to be filled.

"Ah, well." She called upon her best professional voice, straightening in her seat. "I was the one who captured Vegeta, when he invaded…my home," she choked out the last, berating herself for almost announcing to every single person at the table that she was from Earth. To distract them from her misstep, she hurried on, blurting out exactly what they needed to hear.

"I had him in my lab for quite some time, running all manner of experiments on him. I've already gathered months of data on Saiyan anatomy." She tilted her chin proudly, keeping her eyes squarely on Frieza.

He nodded his head, withdrawing his elbows from the table so he could take a bite of his food. He savored a piece of raw meat that was swimming in a pool of crimson blood. Briefly she thought she saw something live bubble in the bowl before he spoke again.

"The man I fought on Namek didn't have a tail. I think that may be the answer to his Ascension. What do you think?"

Bulma eyed his meal, slightly disturbed as she pondered his question. His conclusion didn't seem very likely to her. The source of Saiyan power didn't lay in a simple appendage. She remembered Goku being powerful with his tail, and more dangerous. Cutting it off had been the only way to control him as a child, not unleash some monstrous power.

"Oh, I don't think…" she started, only to be cut off by Zarbon stomping on her foot. She squeaked in protest, shooting him an irate glare. He was facing away from Frieza, his brow set in a scowl of warning as he shook his head at her. She realized that she was walking straight into a trap of Frieza's making. All that it required was for her to finish her thought for it to be sprung.

"…it could hurt," she finished in a small voice, uncertain of what else she could say. Frieza watched her with a calculating gleam, right before his thin, purple lips stretched into a macabre grin. Bulma felt her blood run cold, and she finally understood why everyone feared him so.

"Great. Then we will cut it off after lunch. I'm so delighted that I'll get to see you work."

Bulma blinked, her mind tripping over its self to catch up with what he said. Finally her mind stuttered to a horrible conclusion, kick starting into panic.

"What?" she breathed in stunned disbelief. She could feel the blood drain rapidly from her face, leaving her as fish-belly white as the tyrant who sat across her.

"I just want to make sure that you are up to the task, my dear. After all, I know that you had a relationship with Prince Vegeta before you found your way to the bed of my sweet Zarbon. I want to give you the opportunity to prove to all of us how much you hate that filthy Saiyan. I mean after all he did to you," he clucked with sympathy, his eyes filled with maliciousness. "You must want to hurt him."

"Hurt him?" she repeated ridiculously.

"Oh yes. The loss of his precious tail will just destroy any ounce of pride that he has left. It will be absolutely delicious." The men around the table laughed rancorously. Joyfully feasting on their half-dead food, while mocking the subordinate they were about to torture.

Bulma felt the world fall away from her. It didn't matter that Frieza seemed to smarten up, and suddenly know exactly who she was. More than likely he recognized her the instant she walked up to the table. His cold, calculating eyes missed nothing, nor could he afford to. He probably knew every man, woman and child on this ship, including the guy who mopped the floors in the dungeon, but he would never admit to it. Such knowledge would be unbecoming of a warlord.

Her fingers bit into the table, her knuckles white with strain. What had she done? What was she going to have to do? Of all the things in her life that she had done, this was going to be the most terrible, the most unforgivable. She couldn't help but to think the word terrible and Vegeta went hand and hand. Before she met him, she had never experienced such horrible, awful atrocities.

In the last few months she had faced the annihilation of her world, her near-death on several occasion, a horrible poisoning, surviving a purge---convincing a young girl to walk out into the night, and into the arms of death---and worst of all, watching that girl being eaten alive. But now, the act of taking Vegeta's tail. That would be the worst crime she ever committed. Even allowing Vegeta to get free on her home world couldn't compare. Even then, deep in her heart, she never believed that he was capable of the destruction he boasted off.

But now, if he ever got free, if he ever managed to slay his evil masters, the first place he would head would be Earth. He wouldn't be stopping by to pay a social call, he wouldn't want tea with her mother. He would tear her world apart, just like she was going to tear his tail from his body.

She looked up, suddenly desperate. Frieza, Zarbon, and the pink freak, Dodoria was his name, were ignoring her completely as they laughed, and astonishingly, flirted with each other. She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything to convince them that what they were about to do was unnecessary, but the words died in her throat, coating her tongue with ash. She knew there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say that would stop the events from unfolding. The most she could hope for was to stay alive, get herself appointed as the head scientist over Vegeta's project, and keep him as unhurt as possible. All the while, enduring his complete and unwavering hatred.

The table quieted, finally drawing her attention. She looked up, realizing that everyone was staring at her expectantly.

"Is it time?" she asked faintly, surprised that she could even find her voice.

Frieza nodded, a cool smile stretched across his lips. It looked like he had plum jelly smeared on his face. The kind her mom would always make in the late summer, fresh from the orchard. She loved the warm, sweet taste that reminded her of long days filled with carefree, childlike fun. She knew, at that moment, that she would never again be able to eat plum jelly. Not after this day, not after meeting such a horrible monster with purple, jelly lips.

She stood as they did, trailing them out the door, and down the hall. She didn't speak as they made their way across the ship towards the medical bay. They didn't seem to notice, too caught up in their own insidious mirth. Zarbon was standing as close to Frieza as possible, jocking for position with the blubbery man. She had always assumed that Zarbon poured so much attention on Frieza in an effort to save his own life, striving to better his existence by making his master happy, but as she watched him she understood that wasn't the case. Zarbon genuinely loved his master. Adored him with all his heart, and watching it made her stomach turn.

She couldn't imagine loving a monster. A real, honest-to-goodness, demon from the depths, monster.

The door opened revealing a disaster area. The room was in chaos. Desks were overturned, and papers lay scattered, forgotten on the floor. One heavy-set woman slipped on a sheaf of slick facsimile papers, and slide across the floor like a demented surfer, her arms wind-milling frantically, before regaining her balance and hurrying on. A deafening roar vibrated in the room, shaking the walls, and sending the less courageous scurrying back, and out the doors like rats on a sinking ship.

Unafraid, Frieza stepped into the room, his red, evil-tinted eyes absorbing every small detail. Bulma followed quickly behind, glancing about until her gaze fell on the one thing that could stop time. Vegeta laid naked, strapped down stomach first, on a silver gurney. He had managed to wedge his head up, and his mouth was wrenched open in a primal scream of attack. He was trying to buck his body off the table, but inconceivably, he was held down by thick steel straps.

"Ki guards." Zarbon supplied the answer to her unasked question. "Everything in here has been ki infused. How else would you be able to subdue and cut a warrior whose skin is impenetrable to the deadliest of weapons? I'm sure he's drugged up quite a bit too, but Saiyans are surprisingly resistant to chemicals of any kind."

"I know," she replied absently, thinking of the day she had tried to move him from his inferior cell, to his newer, advanced one. He had awoken, just in time to try and strangle her to death. Or was it to kiss her? She couldn't recall anything passed the memory of deep-set, dark eyes glaring down at her. Those black eyes had held a mixture of hate and lust, simultaneously heating and cooling her skin, making her fear for her life, and her immortal soul all at once.

She floated forward, the roaring in the room drifting away in a hazy cloud of disbelief. Everything fell silent, but she could still hear a hum in her ears, an expectation of something horrible yet to come. She stopped a few feet from him, frozen by black eyes that held hers. His eyes, the same ones that had looked at her so long ago with lust, the ones that had just gazed down at her warmly only a few days ago, were filled with the deepest, darkest sense of hatred that she had ever seen. It was colder than glacier ice, more distant than the moon was from the sun, and more devastating than any cataclysmic event.

Someone walked up to her, breaking his hold on her. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes any longer. A woman was holding up a pair of goggles, along with a long, plastic butcher's apron. Bulma felt her stomach flip. She was afraid she was going to spill the contents right there on the woman's sensible work shoes. She cast a desperate glance towards Frieza, certain that she could talk her way out of this ordeal, but her blood ran cold instead. He was looking at her with absolute conviction that she would fail. He was waiting for her to back out so he could leap onto his chance to kill her. He was expecting her to concede, condemning both her and Vegeta.

She swallowed hard, steadying her nerves. She couldn't give up, she couldn't fail. It was absolutely imperative that she take over this project. It was necessary that she maneuver herself into a position where she could watch over Vegeta, and see to his well-being by whatever means possible. If it meant sacrificing a useless appendage then so be it. If she had to, she would amputate any piece of anatomy she needed to make sure that he survived.

She swallowed, ignoring the guilt that was knotting her stomach with the bile.

With an unsteady hand she took the apron, tying it behind her. Next she grabbed the goggles, noticing for the first time that the nurse was sneering contemptuously at her. She gave the woman her hardest Bulma Brief's glare, her mouth set, her eyes authoritative. She was in her element now, the place were she was at her best, a laboratory.

"Get me a twenty cc's of heparin. Prepare for vitrification," she ordered.

A bubble of confusion erupted at her announcement, but she quickly squashed it, relaying her order more loudly for anyone who may not have heard. The sheer authority in her voice sent interns running for supplies, and nurses racing for the machines.

"What's going on?" Frieza asked without preamble.

Bulma didn't look up, unable to glance at the man who was condemning her to a living hell.

"I'm preparing his tail to be cryogenically frozen," she replied while snapping on her gloves.

"Why, it's not like he's ever going to use it again," the pink freak retorted, and she couldn't help but to slash him a disgusted look.

"We don't know that. There is no use diminishing our options for no other reason than laziness on your staff's part." She addressed Frieza, keeping her tone as brusque and professional as possible. He grinned at her, almost as if he knew what game she was playing at. He nodded his assent, and she moved away, unable to be in his presence for another second.

Finally, the time of reckoning was upon her. Since she had been in the room, Vegeta had been uncharacteristically silent. He was watching her with predatory intensity, studying her every move, waiting for the moment he could spring.

"Well, well. I do believe he does hate you. He used to only look at me that way. I'm almost jealous." Frieza's scaly tones crawled their way up her spine, but she refused to acknowledge him. She ignored Vegeta was the same fervor. She couldn't bear to look him in the face. It was at that moment that he knew that she wasn't going to back away. She was going to carry through with her intention of cutting off his tail. He was stunned. He would have never thought that she hated him so thoroughly that she would agree to mutilate him.

She moved behind him, and he began to thrash violently. Scientist spilled around them on all sides, trying to hold him down on the table but it was no use, he was uncontrollable. Suddenly Frieza was beside her, centering his steel, cybernetic hand between Vegeta's shoulder blades, pressing him to the table. Dodoria grabbed his legs, holding him as still as possible.

Bulma looked down, impressed as always by the sight. Caramel skin melted over tight muscles that bunched tightly at the base of his spine. His tail whipped back and forth, coming close to slapping her viciously and intentionally. Zarbon reached out, painfully banding his fingers around the furry appendage that she loved so much. Vegeta let out a great shout of pain that made her jump and her heart contract.

She tried to blink back the tears, but it was impossible. One crystal drop escaped, and she wiped it away quickly before anyone else saw. She bent down, examining the area where his smooth skin began to mottle and fur sprouted before forming into his long, luxurious tail.

Even with the strong warriors holding him down, Vegeta was still struggling, moving his body a few centimeters at a time. She hunkered closer, gripping the scalpel until she thought her fingers were going to bleed. She was afraid of making a wrong move, of making a mistake that would paralyze him for life.

"Stop moving or I'll cut off more than just your tail," she screeched so loudly, she was certain they heard her on the next floor. She hadn't meant to sound so callous, so demanding, but she needed him to cooperate with her if she was going to save his tail for reattachment.

He stilled, judging whether or not she meant to geld him. He must have concluded that it was unlikely, because he started spitting threats at her like rapid, machine gun fire. First the sounds were intelligible, another language that she had yet to learn, but soon they formed into words that stopped her heart dead in her chest.

"Bulma, if you do this, I swear by all that is unholy, that I will kill every single person that you love."

Her hand trembled as it hovered over his tail. His words solidified an aching certainty that had been haunting her since she left him. A deep, elemental knowledge of good and evil, of betrayer and betrayed, the belief that the wrongs she perpetrated against him would be avenged someday. The absoluteness of the future, however horrible, steadied her, lending her calmness where there should have been terror.

"Don't be stupid, Vegeta. You are already going to do that," she replied, her soul digging down into the iciest part of her heart to hide from the pain, chilling her blood, dulling her emotions.

With a steady hand, her knife cut into his unprotected flesh. Blood welled up from the wound, unaffected by the murderous screams that accompanied it.


	28. Condemn My Soul

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ, I'm not even renting.

A/N: Thanks everyone for continuing to read along, I really appreciate all of your thoughtful support! I know it's been a long hard road, but eventually we'll get there. Just not today! LOL! This chapter has been lingering in my head since I started this story, how many years ago…? I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thanks to Barb for editing.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Condemn My Soul

She had done it. She had unlocked the secret of the Legendary. She could now unleash the most powerful weapon known to man on the universe.

The question was, did she dare?

She chanced a quick glance out her office window to the laboratory floor, and the cage that it held. She was hit with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu as she watched Vegeta pace back and forth like a trapped tiger in his confinement. He glided across the floor with a stride that spoke of barely contained rage, and sleek, dangerous grace. She could feel the reckless energy building inside of him, relentlessly hunting for an outlet, seeking for a chink in his battered stoicism that hid his fury, looking for a way to escape and kill them all. When he pivoted on his heel, she quickly ducked her head to shuffle the papers on her desk, afraid of being sighted by the ruthless predator.

Everything was almost exactly as it had been so many months ago. Vegeta pacing his cage like a wild animal while she was safely ensconced in her plush office. The only difference was the absent swish of his tail, and the smoldering heat in his eyes. Instead there was only cold, dark hatred whenever he looked at her.

There was no speaking either. No threats with thinly veiled innuendo. No heated arguments, and absolutely no name calling, either viciously shouted or softly whispered. Only deathly silence lay between them, drowning out everything else. Where once there had been simmering lust and wicked longings there was only a graveyard of murdered passions.

Bulma honestly didn't know if Vegeta had anything to say to her. She refused to be in the same room with him. A cowardly streak a mile wide urged her to run to her office every morning to avoid his piercing gaze, and undoubtedly sharp tongue. She was afraid of what he might say, of the words that he would use to crush her heart. She knew that he didn't love her anymore (if ever), but she didn't want to hear it spoken aloud; she didn't want her love to be made a mockery of.

But that didn't cease her purpose. Every day she had to meet with Frieza to give him a progress report. Every day she had to invent something to tell him. She ordered her new minions to run painless, important-sounding tests on Vegeta that were meaningless, buying herself time that she didn't have. Instead she studied the scientific advancements of a supposedly superior race, learning everything she could about them, looking for a weakness, seeking her own chink in their armor. What she found shocked her.

They were advanced in many aspects, such as space-travel, cybernetics, and nanotechnology, but they were lacking in some very fundamental sciences. For instance, they had yet to split the atom. They had no idea what a nuclear reaction was, how to create a bomb, or convert the energy into power. They were a race of warriors, and conquering, swaggering warlords. They had no need for armaments on their ships, or weapons for their soldiers. The warriors _were_ the weapons, generating energy from inside their bodies, and shooting it out in destructive ki blasts. All they needed to know was how to transport those weapons, and how to heal them.

She absorbed this information with awe, careful to hide her knowledge from the watchful eyes of Frieza. He had made it devastatingly clear that they were on their way to Earth so he could annihilate every living creature there. A punishment for housing a being that dared to challenge his power. No one could naysay him, not even his father, King Cold. Instead he was coddled by the overly affectionate parent, who was just pleased to have his son back, and not some pudding-headed numbskull in his place. While everyone else on the ship did everything in their power to avoid the psychotic wrath of the newly reconstructed tyrant, Cold fed into his son's lunacy with tales of the destruction they would wreak on Earth, increasing his insanity tenfold.

Everyday Frieza entered her office, his eyes wild, his fanaticism more intense. He needed the answer to Ascension and he needed it now! When he spoke his fingers would curl at his sides, clutching at some imaginary goal that was just beyond his grasp. He rattled on about being born of lava, and bathed in golden light. He had seen the answer to immortality, stared into its mystic teal eyes, and saw the beginning of time itself. He had peered into the heart of the true power, and he would murder worlds to possess it, starting with the birthplace of it all, Earth.

He left her with little choice but to concoct a plan that would save them all, even as it condemned her for eternity.

Bulma's heart fluttered with the cold certainty that Frieza would follow through with his oath. He would kill everyone, blowing Earth apart until there wasn't enough dirt left to fill a crystal vial. Worse, there was no one who could stop him. There was no hero waiting in the ranks, while his friends stalled for just a few more minutes until his inevitable arrival. There was only her. Now that she knew that Goku was dead, it was left to her to defend her world, to protect her family, to introduce the Ice-jinn Empire to the power of _her_ _knowledge._

Vegeta had declared on many occasions that he would destroy Earth, and he nearly had the opportunity when he broke free from his cage, killing the soldiers who thought they could subdue him. She had struggled with the moral devastation of her soul, a choice that she couldn't make: the destruction of her world or eternal damnation. At that time, in that place, she hadn't the strength to make the decision. A lifetime of spoilt, pampered demands, and safe, comfortable security had left her without the mental and spiritual fortitude that she needed to succeed.

Truly in her heart, she never believed that Vegeta was that evil. His words had been horrible, his conviction chilling, but even then she had seen passed the façade of monstrosity that he presented to the world. Deep down, she had faith that he was a man, not a monster. Perhaps she was soft or had been naïve, but secretly she always had faith that he would do the right thing.

But Frieza was evil. Not, 'oh, he's a bad man, save me,' evil, but full-blown, unadulterated, spawn of Satan, pure, unholy wickedness that couldn't be exorcised or circumvented. It could only be destroyed. All that was left between him and the destruction of her world was her brilliant mind, her ability to make a pact with an exiled, demon prince, and the willingness to burn in hell for it.

She glanced at Vegeta, her secret weapon. She already knew the answer to the question that everyone was asking. How could they obtain the Legendary? How could they steal the power of Ascension? It was Trulock who had pointed it out in the first place, he just hadn't realized it.

The moon was what gave Saiyans their power. The gravitational pull combined with the dark matter ions that it produced as they reflected in the sunlight. All she had to do was isolate the ions, condense them down to fit a simple style hand gun that she had specially constructed to generate the dark matter beams and expel them like bullets. Now, all that was left was to pull the trigger.

Bulma glanced apprehensively towards Vegeta. She knew that if she gave him the power to transform he could defeat his enemies. He would punish all those who deserved his wrath, and when he was done he would move onto the rest of the universe, quite possibly killing every single person in it.

She knew it sounded extreme, but she couldn't get the thought out of her head. Before her betrayal she would never have considered it, but now…

Vegeta's hatred was so thick that it hung in the air, coating her throat and lungs with an oily viscosity that threatened to choke the life out of her. She had never seen so much anger, so much hatred, mixing together to create such a deadly miasma in the air.

Everything was in place, her plan was already in motion, and there was no stopping the outcome. There was only accepting it with as little grace and dignity that she could muster. It was hard for her, condemning her soul. She thought she should fight, to rail and scream against destiny, something to benchmark her desire to be virtuous. Instead she only felt a cold, hard emptiness inside her where her heart should be. Her body was heavy, weighed down by burdens, the only thing keeping her alive, caging her soul inside the abomination of herself.

She sighed resignedly, no more fight left inside. She picked up the alien communication device, a.k.a. the phone, and called for Zarbon to come pick her up. He insisted on escorting her from the lab each night, never missing an opportunity to rub Vegeta's face in their relationship. At first Vegeta's eyes burned with a hatred that charred her on the spot, but now they held a cold emptiness that echoed in her heart. At those moments, she wished that her flesh would rot away around her, freeing her from the agony of living.

She picked up a heavy, aluminum case, palming a small jar in the other hand, wondering if her wish would be granted tonight.

She trudged out into the lab, picking her way delicately down the metal stairs that led to the main floor. The last thing she needed was to get her heel caught in the round holes on the steps and tumble to her death. She was sure that Vegeta would get a great deal of perverse satisfaction at seeing her in a heap at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck, but she had no intention of indulging him. Proving his point, he turned his back the instant he saw her coming, making it clear that he didn't even want to look at her.

She made her way to the desk nearest to his cage, hefting the silver case on top where it clattered noisily. She flinched, holding her breath in rigid expectation, exhaling shakily when nothing happened. Shrugging fatalistically, she snapped the case open, busily peering inside.

Vegeta glared over his shoulder at her. Normally, she raced from her office, never glancing his way, only pausing to whore herself with the green freak who picked her up nightly. Their displays were disgusting, turning his stomach faster than a vat of slimy maggots would, but that didn't stop him from covertly watching them from the corner of his eye.

He would give anything to be free of his cage so he could squeeze the life out of her frail body---his heart that beat with betrayal at the sight of her, his near-dead soul that withered in her presence…his absent tail that still ached---anything to be rid of his _attraction_ for her.

The object of his intense loathing was fiddling around with something in the case, ignoring him completely. He could hear the soft clicks of switches being thrown and a digital alarm being set. Curiosity warred within him, but he refused to speak. He wouldn't say another word to the bitch until he was sure that it was the last she would ever hear. His voice would usher her into the afterlife, his words of damnation would linger over her for eternity.

Bulma closed the case with another heavy sigh, absently thinking if this was how Vegeta felt. Dead, emotionless, utterly detached from reality. She wondered briefly if she could succeed with her plan, if she could actually condemn her soul and survive. It hinged on the man whose back was to her, the man who claimed her life as his own.

"Vegeta. I know you are mad at me." Kami, even she knew that was an understatement. She cleared her throat, determined to speak with confidence.

"I know you feel that I betrayed you, and I did, but not for the reason you think."

Vegeta steadfastly ignored her, glaring at the wall before him.

"I was afraid…" Her voice broke, and she felt the dam that held back the flood of her emotions start to crack.

"I was afraid of losing you."

Vegeta couldn't help the snort of disgust that escaped him. Angrily he turned further away, hunching his shoulders. Bulma was bolstered by the small sound, reassured that he was at least listening.

"I was afraid of Zarbon, of Frieza, of what they would do when your secret was out. All I wanted to do was protect you. To give you a chance to be free so you could defeat them."

She paused, searching for the words that would redeem her in his eyes, knowing that none existed.

"All I wanted to do was save you, like you saved me."

Vegeta didn't move, his muscles were stone, his anger settled silently around his body like a shield. She knew that if he still had his tail that it would be wrapped tightly around his waist, not twitching sporadically like it did when he was only mildly annoyed. A truly dangerous sign.

His tail, that was the root of all his anger. Even if she could explain away Zarbon, even if he believed that she did it for him, there was nothing she could say that would appease his fury over her taking his tail.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," she whispered, wiping away a stray tear. "I had no choice. I knew our only hope was if I became the head scientist on your project. It wasn't my idea. I would have never cut your tail…"

"You bitch!" Vegeta exploded in fury, his eyes narrowed, his fangs bared. He stalked forward, edging as close to the force field as he dared. His aura expanded around his body, swirling around him, a meteor storm in the darkness of his hate.

Bulma froze, standing stock-still waiting with heart-pounding expectation. Vegeta sneered, slathering her with hatred from across the room.

He did not speak.

She did not move.

Seconds ticked by, and Bulma knew in that moment that he wasn't going to finish. He wasn't going to forgive her. He retracted his name for her, relinquishing his brand, setting her free. She would never again hear the endearment rasped in her ear, while he pressed his hard body against hers. Never again would she be his _bitchess_.

Her heart died. It cracked apart in her chest, splintering her soul. There was nothing left for her. No reason not to continue with her plan. All she could do was sacrifice herself for the safety of her world.

She picked up the silver case, tucking it carefully between two network servers that guarded the wall. Silently she came around to the front of the desk, her sad eyes never leaving his. He pressed his lips together in regret at his outburst. He never meant to speak, to acknowledge her in any way. She wouldn't get another word out of him, even if it killed him.

She leaned her hips against the desk, crossing her ankles in front of her as she opened the jar that had been warming in her palm. Absently she slicked the thick, creamy balm on her lips, rubbing them together to spread it evenly.

"Who do you think controls circumstance?" she wondered out loud, looking at Vegeta. "Is it destiny or karma?" When he didn't reply she shrugged to herself. "Perhaps its just two faces on the same coin. One vindictive bitch that decides it all."

Vegeta glared at her, taking in her sad eyes and pale face. He wanted to ask her what she was up to, demand that she explain her behavior. He had seen that look on her face before, and it usually boded ill for him.

"I love you, you know," she confessed, without the heat of passion, just a statement of fact that must be true, no other answer was plausible.

Vegeta fought back the twitch in his brow. He was tired of hearing the witch speak, of listening to the lies that spewed from her crimson lips. She opened her mouth and shit flew out, spattering him with garbage he didn't want.

"I've never truly been in love before. Oh, I thought that I loved Yamcha, but I realize now that it was a girlish, foolish infatuation. It was fickle and unsubstantial, not at all how I feel now."

Now she had to go and bring up the worthless human she was always moaning about. Didn't she ever shut up? Vegeta turned his back on her again, pacing towards the furthest wall in his cell. He braced his forearm on the steel wall, resting his forehead on his fisted hand, and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't want to hear another word from her mouth, every sound she made was a stab of pain in the center of his chest, the place where his heart used to be. He doubted distance would mute her voice. He always managed to hear every syllable she uttered, as if his traitorous ears were tuned into her singular frequency.

"Love is about sacrifice. I understand that now. I know that I love you, because I would sacrifice everything that I am for you."

Pain exploded in his chest, crept up his body, and threatened to make his eyes water. He wished she would stop saying that word, he wished she would just stop speaking entirely. He whirled around, a sneer on his lips and an insult on his tongue. He couldn't stand her blathering any longer. He was willing to break his oath just for some blessed silence.

The outer lab doors hissed open, stilling Vegeta's intention to speak. Zarbon sauntered in, a smug smile on his lips. Vegeta growled, low and deadly, before turning away to face the wall. He refused to look at the man, much less acknowledge him or the agony that was growing inside him. He stared at the wall, willing emptiness to engulf him, allowing a void to replace his soul.

Zarbon was surprised to see Bulma standing in front of Vegeta's cage. Usually she hid in her office until he appeared to take her away. Of course, he always claimed a kiss as his due in front of Vegeta. That was the best part of his day. The look on the other male's face was always priceless.

He strutted up to Bulma, wondering briefly what they were talking about, before dismissing it as unimportant. He cared not for their lover's spat, but he had every intention of escalating the situation into a full-blown battle. He grabbed her up by the waist, pulling her into his arms.

"Waiting for me, love?" he boasted, his eyes glowing with maliciousness.

"With baited breath," she replied placidly, surprising him. She never participated in the verbal spars meant for Vegeta. He mentally shrugged, passing it off as an anomaly.

He molded his lips over hers, prying them open with his tongue before delving inside. Her normally rigid body was lax in his arms, her mouth unresisting beneath his. He drew the kiss out as long as he dared, before becoming unsettled by her calmness. He pulled away, setting her aside.

"Are you ready?" Zarbon's voice was stilted with uncertainty, his eyes questioning.

"No," was Bulma's sharp reply. Taken aback, Zarbon didn't respond right away.

Stepping around him, she addressed Vegeta. Both men could hear the change in her voice, the softening of her tone, the sadness in her cadence.

"I've often wondered if I could kill for you." The utter strangeness of her words stalled his heart, urging Vegeta to face her, moving him unlike any pleas for forgiveness. Killing he knew, was something that Bulma would never condone. She wore her unsoiled morality like a badge of honor, waving it in front of him when he was at his weakest. She would sooner slit her own wrists than harm another creature. Her statement was absurd, nothing more.

He glared at her, noting that she refused to look at him. Her eyes were glued to the floor between her toes, her demeanor withdrawn and ashamed.

"First I thought that I could kill you to save my world."

Vegeta snorted at that. They both knew how that turned out. Her lack of spine was what got them into this mess in the first place. Her inability to conquer her own purity had nearly led to the slaughter of an entire civilization. Only her audacity had turned the tables otherwise. He narrowed his eyes, refusing to think about that.

"On our journey I saw so many terrible things, experienced so much. I began to think about what I would do. What would I do to save you? To succeed where I once failed. To protect the one I love."

Zarbon snapped out of his stupor, realizing that Bulma was treading on dangerous ground.

"That's enough," he ordered, snagging her arm to drag her away. She refused, throwing her weight against his, while firmly locking her eyes with Vegeta's. They stared at each across the distance, spanning time and space for one heartbeat to relive their memories together.

"I asked myself, if I could kill for you."

Zarbon yanked on her arm again, but his fingers felt brittle and weak. Something minute crackled beneath his skin, spider webbing through his veins.

"There's so many fascinating facts in the computer's database." Bulma broke her gaze with Vegeta's, addressing Zarbon once again. Her aloof tone was poisonous, with none of the softness that it held for Vegeta.

"All kinds of information on alien anatomy. For instance, did you know that you are a species of freshwater amphibian?"

Zarbon's eyes bulged, his skin fading gray. He tried to open his mouth, to demand what she had done, but his body wouldn't obey. His muscles spasmed, loosing their substance and strength until they felt like spun sugar. Vegeta eyed Zarbon, drifting to the front of his cage soundlessly.

"Well, of course you knew that," she quipped, chatting amicably with the dying man. "The fascinating thing is, that means salt is lethal to your kind. Completely harmless to me, a weak little human, but deadly to you, even with all your power. All that was needed was for a super concentrated dose to be ingested or absorbed through a thin layer of skin." Bulma wiped her mouth contemptuously on the sleeve of her coat, erasing the evidence of her crime from her petal-soft lips.

Zarbon convulsed, reflexively grabbing his chest, his muscles shattering. He felt something brittle splinter inside him, falling apart as abruptly as a house of cards.

"I guess the sodium chloride crystallizes in your veins, clogging your arteries and exploding your heart. An absolutely awful way to die, wouldn't you agree?"

Zarbon's knees buckled before her, his face a mask of horror. There was no glorious battle, or trumpets heralding his death like he had dreamed. No men and women sobbing in grief, singing mournful dirges as he passed in beautiful repose on satin pillows into the next realm. There wasn't even a remorseful whisper of sound as his last breath escaped his lips.

Bulma stepped away, her features remote as he crumpled dead at her feet. Her fist unclenched, the forgotten jar of salve tumbling from her numb fingers and tangling in the haphazard spill of Zarbon's foam-green hair on the floor.

Silence descended on the room, as loud and devastating as an avalanche. Bulma stared at Zarbon's body, Vegeta stared at her. He couldn't believe what he just saw; his mind was still scrambling to keep up. Bulma Briefs, the purest soul he ever met, his innocent angel, had just murdered a man.

"What have you done?" he asked, disbelief nearly stealing his voice.

There was a pregnant pause in the room, seconds ripped by like an abortionist's knife as Bulma lifted her head to look at him. The shadows in her face closed up his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs. No longer could he see the precious light in her eyes, instead there was only death.

"The answer to the question is yes," she murmured, seemingly unfazed by the atrocity she had just committed.

"What question?" he rasped out, completely befuddled by the bizarre situation. He couldn't get passed the feeling of dread that was compounding in the hole where his heart should be. Hard and heavy, an obsidian ball of despair weighed him down.

Bulma's attention drifted back towards Zarbon's body. She stood frozen over him, unable to move, dying to run.

"What question, Bulma?" Vegeta demanded harshly, insisting that she refocus her attention back to him. She glanced at him, her dull, blue eyes a fraction wider at his tone.

"Would I kill someone for you?"

The obsidian ball dropped out of his heart, tearing chunks of the muscles and meat with it, landing heavily in his gut. All at once, with soul-chilling certainty, he knew that he was a monster. Before he had been a bastard who did the bidding of his master, but it wasn't until he tore an angel down from heaven, and rolled her in the muck of hell had he truly become an abomination.

Vegeta looked at Bulma with silent, black eyes. Her shoulders were slumped, her skin unnaturally pale. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, lines of worry and sleeplessness creased the corners. Worse was the look inside their blue depths. He had seen it before, in the child that stood over the charred corpse of a parent, in the man clutching the body of his lover, in the mirror when he looked at himself. It was loss, deep all-consuming loss. And he was the one who gifted it too her.

Suddenly, the ship was rocked with a series of wrenching explosions that sent the floor shuddering beneath their feet. Bulma stumbled against the desk, snapping out of her daze, her eyes sparking to life. She glanced around before snatching up her key card from the desk.

"What's going on?" he shouted, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. Bulma raced towards his cell, steadying herself when another bombardment wracked the ship.

"The explosive devices I set on a timer are detonating," she explained briefly as if he should already know.

"What?" he growled half in annoyance, half in astonishment. What was she going to do next?"

"I set them in key areas certain to draw attention, and clear a path to my ship, _Isis_. She's fully stocked and ready for take off." What she failed to mention was that the cylinder containing his cryogenically frozen tail, and the most dangerous weapon in the universe, her moon wave gun, were also stashed aboard. She had no doubt that he would find them, along with the note that she had left behind.

Bulma stood in front of Vegeta's cell's electronic lock, card in hand. Vegeta looked at her expectantly, and she stared back.

This was the moment of reckoning, their promised rendezvous with fate. If Vegeta was going to kill her it would be right there, right then.

"Swear to me that you will help to protect Earth."

Vegeta couldn't have been more stunned if she asked him to mate with snails. His jaw dropped open a split second before he snapped it closed.

"No," he spat bitterly.

"Do it or I will leave you in there." Vegeta was her last hope. The most powerful warrior that she knew. Now that she understood the answer to his Ascension, she was confident that he could save her world from annihilation, from any threat of the Ice-jinn Empire presented, and even from himself. All she needed was for him to agree.

Bulma's lips compressed into a thin line of resolve, her eyes hardening with a mercilessness that hadn't been there before they'd met. Guilt, a feeling he thought never to experience crept inside him, nestling in the hollowness of his heart. He hated her, but he couldn't deny her. He wanted to escape her, but he couldn't leave her side.

"Fine," he grit out, guilt and the lure of freedom urging him on.

"Swear it. Swear it on your honor as a prince."

He sneered, his lip curling in disgust.

"Whatever," he growled, wondering if she still had faith enough in him to believe his empty promise. Bulma's eyes narrowed, spotting the lie lingering in the air between them.

"Swear it on the blood of your family." She pulled down the collar of her turtle neck to bare her throat. The twinkling of the ruby from his arm cuff caught his eye instantly. She wore the symbol of blood, of family, of Saiyan pride around her throat. A gift from his own hands.

She met his eyes proudly, daring him to deny her, to lie to her face. Trapped between the certainty of a dishonorable death and an oath that would probably end in his demise, he chose the only path he could.

"I swear."

Something akin to relief swept over Bulma, lightening the load on her shoulders, and easing her soul. With a sigh of acceptance she swiped her card, bracing herself for the inevitable.

Vegeta exploded from the cage, all of his suppressed wrath, frustration and desire stampeding into an unreasonable pitch. Roughly he gathered Bulma up into his arms, fitting her soft body against his unyielding one.

He looked down, expecting to see her teary eyes begging for mercy, instead he was greeted with the crown of her head. He glared at the white line of her scalp for a moment before grasping her chin to lever her head up to her look at him. He kept his hand on her jaw, telling himself that it was needed to keep her subdued, while desperately trying to ignore the soft silk of her skin beneath his fingers.

Words of hate crowded in his throat, tumbling over themselves to escape his steel-clamped lips. His hard gaze fell onto her crimson mouth, remembering the time he meant to kill her, but became seduced by her lips instead.

Something primal seethed beneath his skin, howling with animal fury and desire. After everything she had done he still wanted her, after everything that had happened, he still needed to hear her breathing his name in his ear.

The ship rocked with another series of explosions. Bulma's eyes widened, but she remained silent. It was then that he caught a glimpse of something else in her eyes, behind the sorrow and the hint of need. It was dark, hopeless, and empty. Inevitability. The certainty that he would claim his prize, and murder her on the floor next to Zarbon, condemning her tainted soul to hell for eternity.

Vegeta drew back, his eyes burning with anger. His face hardened with vindictiveness, steeling his spine. Death was too easy for her. She deserved to be punished, and punish her he would.

"Not yet," he vowed with dark promise, convincing her without a doubt that her blood debt would still be paid, when he deemed it so, and not a second before then. He wrapped his fingers possessively around her slender wrist, pulling her away from the corpse of her soul that lay intertwined with the body of her victim on the cold steel floor, and down the hall towards freedom.


	29. Love Me Darkly

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ…yet.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Love Me Darkly

Bulma stared listlessly at the video screen, watching as King Cold's flagship receded in the distance. It was ugly, a blight on the spacescape, a scar in the universe. The shine of sharp steel was out of place in the velvety darkness, almost if it was punching through the fabric of space, tearing the cloth of time.

Next to her, Vegeta stood stonily, glaring at the ship that had been his prison. He hadn't looked at her once during their hasty exodus from the burning ship. It had been total chaos around them; soldiers racing through the halls, panicked shouting and pain-filled screaming echoing down the corridors. Gray smoke from electrical fires billowed in the air, searing her lungs, and making her red-rimmed eyes stream black tears. Vegeta ignored it all, striding down the hall towards their ship with single-minded intensity, pulling her along behind him like a useless afterthought.

Now he was motionless, his silence a miasma in the room, choking her with barely restrained anger. He bristled with hostility, fury bubbling just beneath the thin layer of his skin, bloating his entire body until it seemed like he would erupt. One misstep on her part would catapult him into a frenzy of rage directed solely at her. She suffered the knowledge with serene acceptance, unable to find the strength to fight. She felt drained, absolutely empty…soulless.

Vegeta slid his eyes to the side, glancing at Bulma through the veil of his thick lashes. His hands were fisted at his thighs, and he dared not move for fear that he would beat her to death. He analyzed how he felt about that, prodding it like a barely healed wound. What would it be like to crush the life from her frail body? He wondered if the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was from the thought of killing her or the realization that it would be the last time he would feel her soft curves beneath him.

She shifted, just a fraction, nothing more, but he saw it, felt it under his skin. He reacted before he thought, reaching for her before he could stop himself.

A bright flash of light illuminated the control room, throwing long shadows behind them from the sharp thrust of their bodies. Bulma drew up her arm to protect her eyes, while Vegeta blinked in confusion. An obscene puppet show of malice burned into the wall behind them, memorializing their pain for a brief moment, before vanishing with the bright light.

A nova ring of blue and white light expanded in the darkness of space, reaching for territory to crush beneath its weight, before retracting abruptly like a dog on a chain, pulling edges of blackness in its wake. It receded to the center of the blast, collapsing in on its self. A pin prick of light sparkled for an instant before disappearing into nothing. In its place shards of debris littered the area, the only remaining evidence of King Cold's ship.

Proximity alarms erupted around the room, warning of an imminent collision. Bulma's shock shattered under the onslaught, goading her into action. She leapt to the console, accessing her short range scanners, the sensors telling her what her naked eyes could not see. She hissed as streams of data flowed across the screen, the muted green numbers seemingly blurring together.

"What?" Vegeta snarled expecting an instantaneous answer.

"We are about to get hit by a concussion wave from the explosion. In three, two…"

The force of the blast rocked the ship, knocking Bulma off her feet. Instinctively, Vegeta reached out, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest. He spread his legs, balancing himself easily on the deck. The wave ebbed, leaving them mostly undamaged. The ringing of the sirens faded, abandoning them to their stunned silence.

Vegeta had a fair idea of what had just happened. He had spent enough time on Earth to know what a nuclear bomb was and what kind of explosion it could produce. Belatedly, he remembered the silver case Bulma had been fiddling with, the one she had hid before murdering Zarbon.

His brain could barely register the last few minutes. He didn't know how to make sense of it all. The woman who he held in his arms, whose soft body was cradled against his hard one had always been the voice of morality in his head. He couldn't begin to remember his life before her soft dulcet tones, preaching a better way of life rang inside his mind, lighting the darkness of his thoughts. How is it that she came to this?

_He had caused this._

She had just killed hundreds, obliterating them into nothingness. All that blood on her hands, just to save him. He wasn't fool enough to believe that she had gone through such extremes to rescue herself. If it had only been her life on the line, she would have knelt down, head held high while the knife slid across her neck. But because of her feelings for him, because of the way of life that he had shown her, she had done the unthinkable, the unbelievable. She had turned her back on the very core of her beliefs, and found the courage to save them both when they needed it the most.

He squeezed his eyes closed briefly, unable to think about what her actions meant. How they affected him, and the responsibility she now set squarely on his shoulders. Vegeta pushed away the sharp stab of guilt; instead ruthlessly centering his thoughts on the one thing he could fathom…her betrayal.

He had to know if she was defiled. If Zarbon had slipped his dick between the legs of his woman, and tasted the paradise that should only belong to him. He couldn't trust the slippery-sweet, honey-coated words that dripped from her mouth. There was only one way to know for sure.

He pried her away from his body, spinning her around to face him. Her eyes were dead, unfazed by his anger. Her lack of response fed his fury, igniting his errant passions. Relentlessly he reached out, clasping his hands around the collar of her sweater, rending it from her body in two pieces. A glint of crimson drew his eyes to her throat, bringing to mind the color of blood, and the many people he had killed over the years. The reminder of his history encircled her neck like the bonds inevitability…the bond of family.

He growled loudly in anger, unreasonably furious that she still wore his arm cuff, but loathed to snatch it from her. Bulma gasped, her eyes dancing with shock, certain that he had finally lost his regimented control. Vegeta's lips curled at the corners with a vindictive grin, dangerously pleased at her show of emotion.

Without waiting for her expected protests he reached for her fly, ripping the laces and roughly pulling her pants down her long legs. As he bent over, she steadied herself with a hand at his shoulder, her fingers curling with longing at the hard muscle she felt beneath.

Something deep inside, some almost forgotten remnant of herself, wanted to fight back, to screech her indignation at his treatment of her, but she contained herself, unable to quell the guilty voice echoing in her mind that told her that she deserved so much more in punishment. That she should die for the sins she had committed that night.

Vegeta ripped the rest of her clothes from her body, eyeing her callously in the dim light. Bulma shifted self-consciously, fighting the urge to cover herself. His scowl darkened, and wordlessly he grabbed her up by the thighs, spilling her back onto the control panel. She hissed in pain as the knobs and switches jabbed into her soft flesh of her buttocks and shoulders, but thoughts of discomfort quickly receded as Vegeta forced her legs open, stepping in-between her thighs.

Her blue eyes widened, flying up to collide with his ruthless gaze. There was no hint of passion on his cold face, only a sneer of anger on his lips. He leaned over her, and instinctively she raised her hands in defense, pressing her palms against the width of his chest. Her strength was nothing compared to his and he easily pushed passed her defenses, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"No, please, Vegeta," she begged, certain that he was going to rape her this time. That her pleas would go unheard, and that he would violate and kill her.

Vegeta inhaled deeply, expanding his shoulders over her, brushing his shirted chest against her naked one. She grabbed his hair, yanking as hard as she could, trying to lift his face so she could see into his eyes. He growled, and gripped the underside of her arms at her elbows, his fingers digging deeply into her flesh, and forced them beside her head. He shifted, drifting down so his nose skimmed her arm to the underside of her breast. He inhaled again, burying his face into the softness of her breast.

"What are you…" she protested, stilling her struggles. His actions didn't seem sexual, but that didn't stop the traitorous urges in her body. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, soaking up the warmth of his hands on her skin, the heaviness of his body covering hers. It felt so right to be in his arms again, even if it did mean her death.

He let go of her arms, sinking down to crouch on the floor before her. He tossed her long legs up onto his shoulders, his hands skimming her ribs to rest on her hips. She remained still, expectation pulling her belly as taut as a rubber band. Without an explanation or a glance, Vegeta leaned forward, burying his nose between her legs, inhaling deeply again.

Bulma mewled in the back of her throat, unable to help the heat that exploded inside her at his touch. Her body wept in welcome, exhilarated that he had finally returned to her. It instinctively knew that this man was the one who had given her the greatest pleasure of her life, and it responded intensely to his touch, expecting satisfaction to swiftly follow. It could not understand the reluctance of her mind or the trepidation in her heart.

Vegeta rose, dropping her legs so abruptly that she barely had time to regain her balance before she slid off the console. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his hooded, black gaze. She was confused, and she didn't dare move for fear that he would pounce on her. His lips were curled into a contemptuous sneer, but his eyes weren't nearly as cold as they had been only moments before.

"You are untouched," he muttered in disgust.

Bulma felt her cheeks flame. The dull ache between her thighs reminded her that she was hardly untouched. She was a healthy woman, who was used to being touched by Vegeta in all sorts of ways, but she wasn't in a position to argue with him.

He glared down at her for a few more seconds before grabbing her up by the arm to drag her from the room and down the hall towards his quarters. He strode inside, dismissing the clutter of things she had stacked in the corner. He stopped so abruptly that she ran into him, squashing her nose into his back.

Briefly he dropped her arm to tear his ragged, sweat-stained shirt from his body, and threw it into the corner. He spun on his heel, taking advantage of her distraction wrought by his bare chest. The rush of attraction she had always felt for him flooded back, warming her cold skin. He hauled her into his body, trapping her arms awkwardly behind her back as he stared hard into her eyes, the tension in the room weighing heavily, streaming into her mouth and nose, making it hard for her to breathe.

"I should kill you." Vegeta's guttural tones broke the silence, abrading her tender body.

Bulma tilted her chin back, her eyes veiled by her heavy lashes. What could she say in her defense? Even if she had betrayed him for his own safety he would never forgive her. His stubborn pride would never allow it.

When she didn't answer, Vegeta glared down at her, his attention drawn to her pale slender neck. He backed her towards the bed, falling with her as her knees buckled. His muscled thighs straddled her hips, her arms stilled pinned behind her by his big hands.

"You killed, Zarbon. You killed innocent soldiers." His tone was fierce, his words intending to cause pain. Bulma's lips thinned and her chin lifted even higher.

"No soldier in the Cold army is innocent," she replied, envisioning herself as a proud warrior woman, someone whom Vegeta would desire, or at least understand---pretending to be anyone but herself---anything else than a murderer.

"Even me?" Vegeta asked mockingly, his dark eyes glittering intensely.

"Especially you." Bulma vainly tried to make her voice as hard and unyielding as him, but the stream of a single tear down her cheek betrayed her. No matter how much she tried she couldn't squash who she was. She was brilliant, beautiful, and weak. She couldn't harden herself like Vegeta. She couldn't accept violence as a way of life. She had betrayed more than Vegeta, she had betrayed herself.

Vegeta felt something crack open inside him. He was intimately familiar with the working of his little female's mind. She had condemned her entire world to ruin because she could not bring herself to murder one monster, but today she had killed hundreds. Even those could be swept aside by her conscious, but the manner in which she slew Zarbon, so intimate, so familiarly, could never be forgotten. It was a dreadful question that lie deep between them.

He inhaled, taking in the scents on her body, her sweat mingled with fear. Her turmoil intertwined with despair. Her pale skin glowed in the dim light, her blue curls so dark they were nearly black. She was so beautiful, his fallen angel, with skin as pure as the driven snow and hair as fresh and clean as rainwater. He had scented her in the control woman, every inch of her smooth skin, down to her velvety depths. All that he had found was her singular aroma, the intensely female scent unblemished by the odor of an offending male.

She was untouched, unsoiled…still his and his alone.

The emotion that rocked him was unfamiliar, something that he was unable to name. The urge to possess her, to cover her with his body and reclaim her was nearly overpowering. Being separated from her for those few long weeks had been torture. To be made to think that she was betraying him with his enemy was pure hell. But to think that she conspired with his master to humiliate him had nearly destroyed him. The need to pin her down and show her that he was a man, her man, was maddening. He wanted to spread her wide, shove his cock as deep into her as it would go and suckle blood from her soft breasts while she cried out beneath him. Cried his name in breathless desire, urged him on with soft mews of urgency, and screamed to the very heavens that she chose him.

The urge was maddening, because he didn't want it. He wanted to run from her as quickly as his supped up, adrenaline-spiked body was capable. He wanted to leave her behind, and forget that she ever existed. To erase that last few months of his life and begin again. He wanted to leave her, but he couldn't. He could more easily tear the skin from his body than abandon her. His destiny as the Ascended could be easier obtained.

His entire life he had known what to do. Even as a boy when he had been taken by Frieza his duty was clear. He was always to comport himself as a Prince of the Saiyans---strong, prideful, and unbroken. But for the first time in his life he was confused. And none of what he knew answered the question of why. Why did she exist? Why did she haunt him? Why did she cleave to him so completely?

Why had she killed his enemy?

"Why?" Vegeta's dark eyes lifted, locking with her wide blue gaze. The question had so many answers, so many paths. Why had she deserted him? Why had she led him to believe that she whored her body to another man?

"What else should I've done?" she cried suddenly full of fury. "How else should have I saved you?" Her words broke apart in her throat, drowning her with their weight.

Vegeta stared down at her, unable to fathom the meaning behind her actions. Bulma ignored his piercing gaze, lost to her own hellish oblivion. He thought of her earlier words, and understanding struck him hard. She had sacrificed everything that she was in order to save the one person that she truly loved. The one person who could never give her what she needed, who was incapable of such an emotion. _Wasn't he?_

"There is still one who is innocent."

Bulma shook her head furiously, unable to stop the flow of tears that streamed down her face. Her misery was tangible, reaching across the span of their distant hearts and infecting him on a deep, visceral level.

"My soul is gone now. Washed way by blood," she wailed, sobs choking her voice.

Vegeta didn't know why he sought to consol her. The state of her soul was of no concern to him, only her body. Even her strength of mind should be of no consequence, but the need to ensure her well being in all three aspects drove him. No matter how hard he tried to turn away from her, he always came back.

"No one, no God, no man, would condemn you for what you have done. Absolution will be yours." He replied gruffly. Reassurance sounded bitter on his tongue, tasted like gravel in his mouth.

"No, I don't deserve absolution," she whispered sadly. Bulma refused to meet his gaze, closing her eyes and turning her face away, arching her head back.

"Oh? Is that why you turn away, exposing your throat to me?" Vegeta lifted a battle-hardened hand, wrapping it around her neck.

"Is that why you are begging me to kill you with every imperious lift of your chin?"

Bulma's startled gaze flew to his. Her sapphire eyes glittered with tears, edged with thick dark teal lashes.

"I…" Bulma attempted to speak, but Vegeta cut her off.

"You killed those men to save your world, your family…" His words trailed away before he could finish, but Bulma could read his unspoken thoughts. She had killed those soldiers to save him.

"Those are the most noble of reasons to kill."

The both knew that he was thinking about his world, his family, and how he lost it all. How he would have given anything to have been able to kill his enemies to save them.

"You can't rate nobility on this level. Its just one step below depravity."

Vegeta abruptly pulled away to kneel between her knees, hauling her up into his lap. He ignored the hard slap of their skin as they collided, edging them back onto the bed. She curled her arms around his back, holding on as tightly as possible so she couldn't be pried away. She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart. The warmth of his skin, the rhythm of his heart told her the one thing that she always knew. Vegeta was just a man, with all the beauty and faults of a mere mortal, no matter how monstrous he seemed.

"You're pathetic!" Bulma stiffened in his arms like she had been struck, the barest hint of anger rousing itself deep inside her heart at his harsh words. Vegeta felt her anger and it urged him on.

"Bawling about the state of your soul. Wallowing in self-pity. Whining about things that can't be changed. It's done. You made your choice, now you need to live with it and move on. Stop acting like some self-sacrificing martyr, and grow up! You will forget all this, and put it behind you."

"I can't just put it behind me," Bulma replied aghast. She was angry. Immensely so. How dare he belittle her. Her sacrifices, her sins. She had given everything she had to save him. The least he could do was be thankful.

"I'm telling you. No, I'm demanding it. Get over it," he spat at her, his eyes burning with rage, his body arched over hers dominantly.

She wasn't quite sure what happened. One moment she was staring at him in wide-eyed shock and the next she was screaming in pure rage. She bucked beneath him, a growling scream bubbling up from her throat punctuated with a few of the foulest words she could think of. Her arm, slick with sweat slipped from his fingers, and with strength borrowed from her fury, she cocked him across the face with as much force as she could muster.

The crack of the blow echoed in the room, shattering her rage, and allowed even more intense animosity to seep into the room. Briefly she thought about the last time she slapped him, and his warning that it would never happen again. She clamped her mouth shut, her lower lip quivering slightly before she pulled it taut into a grimace of anger. She would not be weak in front of him; she would not bow down to his bastard arrogance, because he muttered a few hurtful words.

"Do you feel better now? Did you get it off your chest?" Vegeta rumbled down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Yes," Bulma hissed spitefully, belatedly realizing that she did feel better. Like a puss-filled wound that had been lanced. He captured her arm again, pinning her effortlessly beneath his body. He towered above her, shielding her from everything except for his tightly muscled body, and burning black eyes.

"Good. Now hold onto that anger. The next time you feel like there is nothing inside of you, then remember, beneath all the emptiness, there is always hate. There is always fury. When nothing else can sustain you that will keep you going."

Bulma's wide, blue eyes, blinked. Just for a second, she was caught off guard. Of all the things he could have chosen to say to her that was the last thing she expected. Why would he go through the trouble of making her feel alive again? Why would he show her the path that led her out of the darkness of her remorse and into the light of existence?

"You have other things to worry about besides the demise of some worthless weaklings."

"What?" she asked, suddenly afraid. She didn't want to worry or think about what was waiting for her on the next day. She wanted only to exist in this place, in this one moment, where there was only her and Vegeta, to the exclusion of all else.

"Me." Vegeta's dark voice cascaded over her skin, confirming her thoughts, drowning out everything but him. He lowered his body until his heat enveloped her and his skin whispered over hers. He released her arms, bracing one hand on the bed by her face while his other freed his throbbing erection from his pants.

She braced her palms on his shoulders, her nails digging deep into his bronze skin. She knew there was no hope of pushing him away, or of dissuading him if he decided to hurt her. All she could do was hope that he would find some shred of mercy in his heart for her.

"So, you are going to kill me then?" She asked breathlessly, afraid, but calm.

He slid her arms up over her head, staring down at her round face framed by a cloud of blue hair. He honestly couldn't say what he was going to do with her. She was a plague, something he should cut out of his life with a sharp knife, but even if he was to kill her, he didn't know if she would ever be completely gone. She had become a part of his life. Something that always was there.

"I'm going to punish you."

Vegeta's voice was remorseless, empty, and deadly. Fear prickled her skin, and her belly flip-flopped. His eyes held no warmth or mercy, only anger and a deep, dark, visceral desire that simultaneously heated her skin, and dried out her mouth.

He sealed his lips over hers, swallowing her cries as he plunged deep inside her with remorse. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his fingers digging into the cleft of her ass, spreading her wider for him, molding her for his own use. She was certain that what Vegeta had in store for her would be brutal, dirty and darkly pleasurable. He was going to use her, and she was going to beg for it.

All night long.


	30. Dirge of Forgiveness

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

I know it's woefully short, but no matter how much I stare at it, I don't think it's going to get any better. I've taken another full time job, and while I'm struggling to write the next chapter during my training class I can't promise that it will be any better than this one. All we can do is try to get to the end of this story together. crosses fingers Here's to hoping!

Chapter Thirty

Dirge of Forgiveness

Vegeta leaned against the rail on the observation deck, staring blindly out into space. He didn't look at the wide expanse of specially designed Plexiglas separating him and the crush of space as an engineering marvel as Bulma did nor did he notice that the thick plethora of plants on the deck below him had flourished from the seedlings they had been when he first stepped foot on board nearly a year ago.

Everything was growing, changing around him, inside him. A seamless flow of time and events coalescing into life experiences, while the skeleton of the past hid among the flesh of the present. Familiar yet different, unsettled and complex.

The room behind him, with its flowering bushes, and benches tucked away in secret places waiting for a crew it didn't have was no comfort to him. It offered him no sanctuary, and the beauty held no relief for the tortured ramblings of his mind.

He was a warrior, designed to catalog tactical advantages and enemy weaknesses. He was a prince, trained in the affairs of state and economy. He was a man driven by reason and prone to logic. So why was it that one small insignificant female turned his mind inside out and his world upside down?

He knew what he should do. He knew what his pride demanded and his reason concluded. His logical mind already had an answer to his dilemma, but it had no insight into the small, sharp stab of pain deep in his breast. A pain that never existed before Bulma. A pain that threaten to topple him to the ground with its intensity if he peered too closely.

For some reason he couldn't purge himself of it, and he was no longer certain that he wanted to. Although the ache disgusted him, it also did something wonderful. It proved to him that he was still alive. That somewhere passed the cold mask of his indifference there was still a piece of him left that hadn't been burned out by his hatred.

He also knew that deep behind the pain there was something even more beautiful and yet, absolutely terrifying. He dared not look beyond the ach of his heart for fear of what he might find, but he was even more afraid of squashing the pain and losing something indefinably more precious at the same time.

Bulma betrayed him. That was the source of his pain. Logic understood the reason she had done it. She had been afraid, uncertain of her future, with no reason to trust him. The possessive animal inside of him roared that she had every reason to place her faith with him. He had claimed her, made her his own. She should have believed that he would protect her.

Logic reasoned with the primal beast, reminding him that he had given no reason for her to believe that. Even though he had saved her numerous times in the past he had made it quite clear that he may decide to turn his back on her in the future.

It was at that crossroad that his logical self and his animal self warred. Bulma ran from him because he hadn't shown her with rite or deed that he would stand as her shield, to be her protector and mate. That lack made escape for him possible, leaving him free to leave her whenever he wished. He owed her nothing, promised her nothing, except for the certainty of her death at his hand. And even that was uncertain.

Even with so little she had managed to build so much. It was more than fear that drove her from his side and into the maniacal clutches of his enemy. It had been love, her love for him. He knew it was there. He could see it in her eyes every time he looked at her. She had betrayed him with Zarbon to save him. She had killed a man to protect him.

It made him sick. He should have been the one to protect her, to shield her. Not just from physical harm, but from the psychological whiplash of the horrors of the universe. Instead he had introduced her to the self-destructive path of murder. He had taken something perfect and pure and destroyed it, all in the name of vindictiveness.

He had wanted to punish her. To show her what true hardship was, and to have her cringe from it. It had been a ploy to drive her into his arms, but it had backfired, saddling him with larger problems than how to get an easy lay. Now he was responsible for a destruction of a soul. Even that knowledge did nothing to lessen his anger at her. After everything, he desired nothing more than to kill her where she slept, to free them both from the imprisonment of their silken bond.

Earlier he had stood over Bulma in the darkness, naked except for the blue ball of ki that danced in the palm of his hand. She slept deeply, perhaps the deepest since he held her last in his arms. Her death was at the edge of his fingertips, but she remained blissfully unaware. Her lashes barely fluttering as she muttered his name in her sleep.

He crushed the ball of light in his hand, desperately wishing he could crush the source of his anguish with the same ruthlessness. She was a bane upon his damaged soul. Calling up from within him a sense of compassion he had never felt before. Because of her he now heard the weeping of a child as he passed, and the memory of his bloodthirsty deeds burned the insides of his brains. With a disgusted shake of his head he turned away to dress, only to find his tattered uniform unusable. Quietly, he searched the room, locating her stash in the corner. She had piled together boxes and containers for their journey home, laying a handwritten letter on the top most box.

The flowing script in his native tongue instantly soothed him. Somehow she had managed to teach herself Saiyan-jinn, a long dead language that only he knew. And now apparently her as well. A secret, forbidden language between them.

The words she wrote made his heart constrict with pain, an invisible fist that tightened mercilessly inside his chest. She never intended to leave Cold's ship alive. She never imagined a universe where he would allow her to exist after her transgressions, even with her heartfelt confession of love. Instead she fully expected him to strangle her with his bare hands, consoling herself that she would at least feel the warmth of his arms around her one last time, before he left her for dead on the laboratory floor. Even still she had freed him, loosed the beast on her self in return for one promise from him.

She begged him to protect her world from her enemies, putting her trust in the man who was to murder her, then gave him the tools he needed.

Vegeta's eyes drifted over to the hand gun stacked on a crate. It lay helplessly, small and inconspicuous in a leather holster. But according to her one blast from the weapon would catapult him into Ascended form, essentially gifting him with his deepest desire. He could barely comprehend the enormity of it. The magnitude of her boast. His fingers curled with the urge to sweep up the gun and try it on himself, but a very small, very, newly born voice cautioned him.

All he ever wanted was to obtain the Legendary and avenge his people, to become his destiny. His opportunity was right in front of him, but it seemed tainted some how. The Legendary wasn't something that could be given or stolen, it had to be earned, and it had to be respected. He wouldn't cheat his pride, his people or himself by taking the easy way. It had never been his destiny to have anything handed to him, not even victory.

In her letter she went on to tell him how much she regretted the loss of his tail and how she was sure that her father could figure out how to reattach it.

He tossed down the letter in disgust, glaring at it like it was a venomous snake before picking it up and placing it as he found it. There was no reason to alert Bulma that he knew the purpose of her weapon until he knew what he wanted to do with the knowledge.

Turning his back on the whole situation, he snatched up a pair of pants from a pile of clothing she left him, automatically heating the tip of his finger with his ki. He stared at the seat of the pants, belatedly realizing that there was no reason to cut a hole for his tail like he had in the past.

Pain combined with loss ripped through is chest, nearly buckling his knees. His anger rose up inside him again, threatening to choke him with its intensity. He glanced at Bulma sleeping peacefully in his bed, his fists clenching with menace. With thinned lips he yanked on the pants, stalking out of the room without a backwards glance.

Bulma watched Vegeta's sculptured back muscles ripple with tension when she entered the observatory. He leaned on the balustrade overlooking the atrium, his forearms braced on the rail, his spine curved. He wore only the leather pants that she had brought for him, slung low on his hips so not to chaff his still healing wound.

She felt regret sharp and painful in her chest followed by the slow, choking squeeze of sorrow. How she wished she had it to do over again. What would she have changed? What would she have done differently? How would she have saved his tail?

She knew that he was ignoring her. Silently compelling her to walk away and leave him, but she couldn't. She couldn't abandon him again. She pulled the gold sheet tighter, uncaring that she was naked beneath the sateen wrap. When she had awoken to find Vegeta gone, she had been in a panic, suddenly afraid that he had left her behind and escaped their invisible bond that held them together.

She scrambled out of bed, ignoring the pain of sore muscles and bite wounds on her skin. Vegeta had punished her harshly, sucking every ounce of pleasure from her body, touching her in places no one ever had before, fucking her in ways she hadn't thought possible.

She pulled the sheet with her, the tail trailing sadly behind while she dashed down the halls in search of him. Some indefinable force had led her directly to him, a mysterious tug in the pit of her belly that knew exactly where to look. The panic that held her hostage wouldn't release its grip until she saw him, verifying in her mind what her gut already knew. But now with the absence of panic, her sadness was able to creep inside to take its place in her heart, devastating her ability to breathe.

In a whisper of satin, she glided up behind him, almost relieved when he didn't turn around. She trailed her slender fingers down his back, gently tracing the curve of his spine, and hollows of his rigid muscles, marveling at how different they were from each other.

She was softness while he was hard. He was strength and she was wit. Even their flesh was a contrast. Her skin was so pale that it glowed under the moonlight, while his was dark with shadows. So different yet eternally drawn together.

Her eyes scaled down the slabbed muscles of his back, her fingertips tingling at the scorching heat of his skin. Her gaze finally landed on the one thing that drew her like a magnet. Her own personal vortex of guilt, sorrow and regret that sucked her in no matter how much she fought.

The wound where Vegeta's tail used to be was angry and red; the flesh puckered with swollen scar tissue, and barely scabbed. It looked so horrible, so painful, that she couldn't resist the urge to reach out and soothe his pain away.

As her fingers brushed the wound, Vegeta whirled around, his fist manacling her wrist. He glared down at her, his eyes hard and cold. The cruel look on his face stole the last of her breath, leaving her nearly paralyzed.

"Forgive me," Bulma gasped out, suddenly very frightened.

Vegeta's fingers tightened on her wrist, mercilessly for a moment, nearly buckling her knees with the pain of it. His lips curled back from his fangs in a snarl, his face darkening furiously.

"Never," he spat, throwing her wrist back at her, before brushing past to stalk from the room.

Bulma cradled her bruised wrist to her chest, tears rimming her thick lashes as the weight of her despair crashed down on her.


	31. Welcome Home

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

A/N: Thanks for all your patience guys, you have been so great. I know the chapters are far and few between, but rest assured, I will continue to update. The holidays keep me hopping, but things should settle down after next month. crosses fingers Hopefully.

Chapter Thirty-One

Welcome Home

Thick, choking dust swirled around the ship, cloaking it from the onlookers. Twining strands of brown and gray streamed towards the hatch as it opened like a great yawning mouth. The line of battle-hardened warriors tensed as a shadow formed behind the dust, an aura of ill-concealed menace spilling out from the ship, engulfing them in a sensation of brutality. The blurred lines of the shadow formed into a man, as dark and foreboding as his aura projected.

He stepped out of the cloud of dust, his sharp, angular features set with predatory intensity. Glittering, dark eyes absorbed the smallest of details as he sneered at the combat-ready men with contempt. Black leather pants molded over his muscular thighs and calves, and heavy, hard-soled boots protected his feet. A black short-sleeved tee poured over his wide chest, defining every sculpted muscle and his rigid abdomen. Black fabric gave way to toffee skin, and white, battle-scars dusted the backs of strong, ungloved hands.

One waiting warrior choked deep in his throat when he caught sight of the spangled writing scribbled across the approaching man's tee. He didn't know whether to laugh out loud or faint dead away in fright.

"Vegeta! Wait up."

The man's rigid face hardened almost painfully, the only indication that he heard the screech behind him. He kept his coldly assessing eyes on the group of men in front of him, clearly aware of where the most likely threat lay.

Bulma strode down the ramp, her appearance absurdly similar to her captor's. A black tee molded over her round, pert breasts, the hem tucked into the waist band of form-fitting, leather pants. A calf-length jacket cocked back over her hips revealing the most surprising addition to her wardrobe. A pistol was strapped to her thigh, oiled, gun-metal-gray, steel contrasting sharply with her sparkling personality.

"Bulma!?"

Gold numbers sparked across the green view screen over her left eye alerting her to nearly simultaneous energy spikes. Instinctively, she knew the largest power surge emanated from Vegeta in response from the jump of power from the man who had called her name in a surprised, strangled gasp.

She wrenched her gaze from Vegeta, her mouth gaping in shock. Yamcha stared back at her with the same look of astonishment etched over his pale features. Gohan and Krillan stood beside him, both crouched and ready for a fight. Gohan reacted first, his face bursting into a wreath of youthful exuberance.

"Bulma!"

He bolted from the line towards Bulma, skirting around Vegeta warily. A pair of chocolate brown eyes narrowed when Vegeta tensed with the obvious instinct to prevent the young boy from approaching Bulma. He held his ground, his relentless gaze becoming deadly as he glared at the two remaining men. Krillan wavered nervously, but Yamcha glared back just as menacingly.

Bulma leaned down, opening her arms wide as Gohan flew towards her. She grunted happily when he collided with her, squeezing the air from her lungs in a heartfelt hug. She wrapped her arms around him, returning his affection joyously. She was amazed at how far she had to reach. He had grown so much since she had seen him last!

She pulled away, her sparkling blue eyes dancing down at his filled-out form.

"Look at how big you've gotten," she exclaimed in surprise. She took in his broader width, her eyes growing sad. "Has it really been so long?"

Gohan nodded, a huge smile splitting his face, so similar to his father's. A small ache bloomed in her chest, but she hid it behind her smile.

"Almost two years," he gushed excitedly. "We thought you were dead!" he said in the same innocent rush, unaware of the effect of his words on the group.

All three men's power flared on Bulma's view screen, and she tensed in response to Vegeta's nearly invisible distress. She knew that it must be hard for him to return to Earth with her, especially, when it would only remind him of his shameful imprisonment.

Her friends were defensive, and rightly so. They still thought that she was a captive of Vegeta's, but that was no longer the truth He had returned her willingly, accompanying her through space, and never wavering from his promise of protecting Earth.

Before they had entered her star system she had asked Vegeta why he was returning with her. She hadn't meant to blurt out the words; they just came out in a rush of hurt feelings. He treated her so coldly during their return voyage that she could help but feel that she had already lost him. His physical presence was just a reminder of what she no longer had. Of course once she said it, she wanted to take it back just as quickly. As painful as his coldness was to her, she still basked in his company. She didn't want to see him leave, she wanted him to stay by her side for as long as possible, but with the destruction of King Cold's ship, Earth was no longer in danger. Frieza and his family was dead, no one knew that it was her that set the charges that killed them. There was no one left to extract revenge. As far as she could see, there was no reason for him to stay.

When she had stated her case, Vegeta had stared at her with his coldly, dark eyes, shadows undulating in their depths, then without a word he walked away, leaving her questions unanswered, and sinking feeling that he wasn't telling her something. Something important, and dreadful in its consequences. Vegeta wasn't accompanying her home because he wanted to bask in her company. He had already made it clear with his long silences and frequent absences that he could barely stand to be in the same room with her. It was only at night when he entered her quarters, drawing nearly endless screams of pleasure from her that he actually interacted with her during their long trip back to Earth.

No, he was hiding something from her. His long silence when she asked why he was returning with her had answered it. He felt that she should know the answer why, and if she was too stupid to figure it out then it was her own damn fault. He wasn't around because he wanted to continue to punish her either. He was definitely honoring his word to protect her home world. But from what, she couldn't fathom. She had already eliminated the Cold threat. Hadn't she?

He had given her the scouter before they landed, ordering her to wear it so she could hide from anyone who was a threat to her safety. The scouter gave her the advantage of knowing where people were around her. Before they even entered orbit he told her that he could feel a rise of power on the planet's surface. He had no idea if they were friendly, but they had congregated at the point of landing for their ship. She now knew that he had felt Yamcha, Krillan and Gohan. More than likely they had sensed Vegeta, and had come to investigate. That gesture alone had made her heart swell. Even though he barely spoke to her, at least she knew that he still cared for her safety. To her that meant that there was still hope to repair the damage that had been done by her actions.

She looped her arm around Gohan's neck, keeping him close to her in a show of camaraderie while edging closer to Vegeta with a subconscious hope that her presence would calm him. Her eyes clashed with Yamcha's, jarring her from her thoughts. She couldn't believe that she had momentarily forgotten him. Even her overwhelming shock of finding her friends alive couldn't excuse it. Before Vegeta, she would have been falling over him in happiness to find him resurrected, instead she felt nervous and more than a little guilty.

Pain cramped her stomach, and she felt it roil rebelliously. Confrontation always made her feel like vomiting, and a fight with her ex-boyfriend was no exception. Actually, he didn't even know that he was an ex yet, and that made it so much worse.

Her embarrassed gaze skittered away, centering her attention back onto Gohan in attempt to distract herself and avoid the situation. Her heart ached when she looked at him. Frieza had made it sound like he had destroyed them all, but here he was hale and whole.

"I thought you were dead too." It wasn't lost on the adults that she failed to respond to Gohan's innocent statement about her presumed death.

"Why would you think that?" Yamcha asked sharply, regaining Bulma attention.

She shuddered as an image of Frieza maniacal features rose up in her mind.

"I met Frieza. He told me that he killed you all." She sniffed at the memory, still unable to believe that it wasn't true. Even though they were standing in front of her she couldn't forget her grief.

"You spoke with Frieza?" Krillan squeaked, clearly fearful.

"Are you okay?" Yamcha asked taking a step towards her.

The gold numbers on her scouter escalated rapidly, drawing her gaze to Vegeta. Yamcha stopped in his tracks, brisling at her captor. The warmth that melted through her chest at Yamcha's words cooled inside her heart. It had been so long since someone had openly shown concern for her welfare. Vegeta was the embodiment of deeds, his actions never lied, but sometimes the words were just as important.

A prism of glitter caught her eye, causing her to blink dubiously. During their long trip back, she had done everything she could think of, both verbally and physically to repent for her actions. She had doted on Vegeta almost religiously, but he refused to acknowledge her, and barely stayed more than a few minutes in the same room. Finally in a small rebellious spurt, she had purchased some glue and spangles at a trade world that they stopped off at, decorating one of his many black tees with a single word. It was the first thing she thought of whenever she was even the teeniest bit mad at him.

It was her little way of reminding herself with whom exactly she was dealing with. Vegeta was a bastard; his every act underlined that fact. There was no changing the truth. But he wasn't a monster either. His behavior on Frieza's ship, his willingness to lie to protect her, testified to that.

It wasn't until this moment that she considered that he wasn't able to read the word. A while a go he told her that he had learned her language through osmosis during his trip to Earth in his pod. Of course, that training wouldn't include a course in writing in a foreign tongue. The only reason he was wearing the shirt now, was because it was the closest at hand for him to throw on when the ships alarms had alerted them to their emanate landing. If he could read the word that she had written, she was fairly certain that the shirt would be a heap of smoldering as on her bedroom floor at the moment.

"Weren't you scared, Auntie Bulma?" Gohan looked up at her with big brown eyes. "I was scared when I had to fight him."

That statement dragged her attention back to the present, and caused her heart to clench. Vegeta twitched towards them, and she noticed him glance at Gohan from under the veil of his thick lashes. She wondered how he felt about a young boy battling his mortal enemy. Bulma hugged Gohan closer, tears stabbing the backs of her eyes.

"That would have been horribly scary."

Gohan hunched his shoulders in a shrug, his boyish sensibilities embarrassed by her concern.

"But my dad totally kicked his ass!" He jabbed his fist into the air with enthusiasm, stepping out of Bulma's girlie reach. His eyes flickered for a moment and he lowered his arm.

"I mean, he kicked his backside," he muttered apologetically.

Bulma couldn't help but to smile at him, uncaring about his faux pau.

"So, your dad won?" Bulma asked tentatively, unable to stop the small flutter of hope in her chest.

Krillan and Yamcha looked away, and Gohan's happiness disappeared. Bulma felt the hope in her heart die a strangled death when she looked around at her friend's faces.

"So he's…?" she trailed off, unwilling to finish her thought out loud in front of Gohan, but everyone knew what she was thinking. Everyone was thinking it. _What if Goku was dead?_

"No!" Yamcha sprang forward completely ignoring Vegeta now. Both he and Krillan didn't know what to make of his presence, but he had made no move to attack, and Bulma seemed to be far from terrorized.

Truth be told, she seemed to glow with an inner light that the sadness of the news had no way of dimming. She spoke confidently, unafraid of Vegeta who stood conspicuously silent, listening to the conversation around him, gleaming important bits of news.

"No, he's not. He can't be!" Yamcha spat. His vehemence died down as quickly as it came, leaving the group in a drift of heavy silence. Everyone, with perhaps the exclusion of Vegeta, wanted Yamcha's words to be true, but their hearts were filled with doubt. They stood there for long, agony filled moments, shuffling their feet, while Yamcha shot covetous glances at Bulma.

Finally deciding that she was his girlfriend and that he had every right to approach her, he stomped up to her, his mouth set into a grim line.

"Can I talk to you?" His question wasn't a question at all, but a demand. Bulma felt her stomach clench in response to his hard tone. She actually hated emotional confrontation, preferring to battle on a more intellectual level.

"Ah. Sure, Yamcha." When she didn't move, he became agitated, grabbing her arm to remove her from the group.

Vegeta subtly, but instantly reacted. His entire body made a ninety degree turn to face Bulma, automatically gauging her distress. She could tell he was barely restraining himself from leaping on Yamcha and ripping his arm off. She quickly raised her hand in supplication, calming him without words. Her actions went unnoticed by Yamcha, but Krillian ever vigilant, and always underestimated, saw every move.

Bulma quickly wrestled her arm away from Yamcha, unable to meet the hurt glance he shot her, and hurridly followed him a safe distance away from the group. He thought them far enough away so not to be heard, but she knew better. Saiyan hearing was hands down superior to humans in every way.

"Are you okay?" he asked earnestly, wrenching her stomach even more. He was genuinely concerned for her welfare, and she honestly couldn't remember the last time that she had even thought of him. She had been so wrapped up in her life, in Vegeta, that she hadn't given thought of anything outside her little comfort bubble.

"I'm fine." She looked down at the toes of her boots, wondering if she felt bad because she was in the wrong, or because she was honestly annoyed that she had to take time out to play out her part in this little drama. There was so much she needed to be doing right now---seeing her parents, tracking down Goku if he survived, figuring out how to reattach Vegeta's tail. Her thoughts made her feel worse. When had she started undervaluing her relationships from her life before Vegeta?

Fingertips grazed her chin, jerking her out of her thoughts. In the past, the soft brush of Yamcha's fingers would have sent shivers down into her stomach, but now it slightly nauseated her. Her eyes darted to Vegeta's, noting the normally dark color was brightening to an abyssal red. She backed away from Yamcha's innocent touch, schooling the line of her mouth to be firm.

"No touching."

The black archs of Yamcha's brows drew together in confusion before he glanced behind him in a sudden dawning of understanding. When he looked back at her, his face was grim, his eyes determined.

"I don't know what he's done to you, Bulma, but you don't have to be afraid anymore. You're safe now. He can't hurt you here. We'll send him back to hell where he came from, and then you can be free," Yamcha stated his declaration fiercely, turning towards Vegeta, practically rolling up his sleeves.

At first Bulma was confused, unable to grasp what he was saying to her. The last thing that Vegeta had done was hurt her. Not once, during their entire trip had he laid a violent hand on her. Yes, he had made some bad choices, they both had, but they had learned from them, grown from them and they had become closer because of it. She was no longer the damsel in need of rescuing. She had morphed from a loudmouth mouse of a scientist, to a loudmouth badass who had every ability to protect herself. Men need not to apply. Finally, she was capable!

As Yamcha whirled away, she saw the instant change in Vegeta. He went from a loose-fisted stance to a steady, mountain grounded alertness. His eyes became bright, and if she wasn't mistaken, she saw something akin to anticipation light up inside him. Of course she was the only one who noticed the nearly imperceptible changes in him. To the others, he still looked cocky and unconcerned.

She grabbed Yamcha's arm, yanking him back towards her. Unlike Vegeta, he was easy to manipulate, unwilling to use his strength against her, and naturally submissive. If it had been Vegeta she was trying to subdue, she would have been left behind in the dust and the offending male beaten to a pulp before she could open her mouth in protest.

"I'm not afraid," she said firmly, finally meeting Yamcha in the eye to make her point. It was suddenly very important that she show him, show all of them that she wasn't some helpless female that had spent her time with Vegeta horribly tortured and broken. They needed to know that she was fully cognoscente of her actions, and not some mindless sex slave. Although, lately she sure felt as such, especially in the late hours of the night when Vegeta left her fully sated, and utterly alone.

When Yamcha ignored her, and glanced back at Vegeta, she shook his arm to get his attention. Her grip must have been a little more ruthless than he was expecting because he looked back at her, slightly agape with shock.

"I'm not afraid. Vegeta hasn't laid a hand on me. There is no reason for you to go around challenging him like some rooster-tailed cock trying to scratch out your territory."

His gaping mouth fell open a little more, before he snapped it closed, his chocolate brown eyes shooting fire.

"He's a monster Bulma. Plain and simple. The last time he was here he tried to destroy the world. Or have you forgotten?" He shook off her grip as he yelled at her, completely forgetting about their audience who could now hear them without the benefit of super-duper hearing.

"No, I haven't forgotten, but that's in the past. Vegeta is here now to help us protect Earth. There bad people out there, Yamcha, really bad people that are capable of doing terrible things, and we have to defend ourselves against them," she shouted back, embarrassed on Vegeta's behalf, but unable to stop her tirade.

"Bulma. He _is_ one of those bad people. How can you sit there and say that he's going to help us when he'd sooner kill us where we stand?" Yamcha waved his hand in Vegeta's vague direction, not really paying attention to the warrior he was insulting.

She crossed her arms, tucking them under her breasts as she glared at her ex-lover in disdain. At that moment, she couldn't remember why she had found him so attractive. He seemed so petulant, child-like in his vindictive tantrum.

"Speak for yourself, Bud," she replied mutinously, her eyes narrowed.

He paused his litany, glancing over at her. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her teal hair had grown longer in the last two years, the lighter tips licking at her lower back. Her already fabulous body had hollowed out, loosing her baby fat and replacing it with luscious curves. Always confident, she now stood with a new sense of self that had nothing to do with her genius brain and everything to do with her newfound comfort with herself as a person. It absolutely dumbfounded him that she choose to grace his mortal enemy with her new assets instead of showering him with 'I missed you,' kisses.

"Why are you defending him?" Yamcha demanded to know, his upset clearly written on his face.

She dropped her arms to her sides, exhaling a gusty sigh that took all of her antagonism with it. She couldn't blame Yamcha for reacting the way that he was. The last he had seen Vegeta, they had been trying to kill each other. He hadn't the same benefit she had of spending the last two years with him in close quarters. He had no way of knowing who Vegeta really was.

"Because I know him," she said softly, her eyes glowing as she said the words. Yamcha paused, looking deep into their crystal depths. There was something different about her that went deeper than her new badass clothes and confidence. A glow deep inside that he couldn't identify. All he knew was that it scared him. He wanted things to go back to the way that they had been. He wanted to return to the past where she had been just a girl, in love with him, just a boy. He reached for her, his eyes pleading, his heart etched deeply on the lines of his face.

"Come home with me."

She knew he wasn't talking about returning to Capsule Corporation, or even to his small downtown apartment. He was asking her to help him turn back the hands of time, to recapture their past, and all the innocence that had gone with it. But she couldn't. She could never give up her present, for a past that she had already lived. Even if her future was uncertain, and possibly filled with heartbreak.

"I can't," she whispered, moving subtly away from her childhood friend.

"Why?" Still pleading he edged closer, unknowingly putting them both in mortal danger.

"Because I belong to, Vegeta." Not with Vegeta, but to him. Yamcha heard the distinction of words even if Bulma did not. Consciously or subconsciously, Bulma had chosen her path, whether it would break her was yet to be seen.

Yamcha dropped his hand, disgust twisting his features. For a moment he looked at her like she was a plague victim, ravaged by a disease called obsession, no longer the girl he had loved.

"You're sick. You have that illness. That one that makes you think you love your captor. We can get you help for that, Bulma. We can make you better."

Bulma sighed again, dropping her gaze to the ground, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"I don't have Stockholm's, Yamcha," she argued.

"Yes, you do," he spat with newfound fanaticism.

Shaking her head, Bulma pushed passed him, making her way towards the ship so she could gather her stuff. It was time for her to go home. She needed the security and warmth of her family around her; she needed the reassurance of her lab. Yamcha followed behind her, stating his argument, but she ignored him, already making plans for a long bath.

Confident that his woman wouldn't be coaxed back into the arms of her old lover, Vegeta was free to concentrate on the other two members of the welcoming committee. More precisely on the bald one who had been edging closer with every angry, exchanged word. Finally disdaining to glower at him, Vegeta was startled to see that he wasn't looking at his face, but down at his chest. Slightly disturbed, his eyes narrowed menacingly.

Seeing his attention, Krillian paused, a nervous laughter bubbling up in his chest as he rubbed the top of his shinny head. Absently he motioned towards the spangled writing on Vegeta's tee shirt, finally giving into his initial urge to chuckle.

"Badman, huh?"

Vegeta scowled at the baldie, barely resisting the urge to seek out Bulma and strangle the life from her.

Bulma on her way up the ramp, cringed inwardly. Oh, she was going to pay for that one.


	32. Physician Heal Thyself

Disclaimer: DBZ was created by **Akira Toriyama. **I don't own DBZ, nor will I ever.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Physician Heal Thyself

Her father was a genius. She was a super-genius. Together there was no problem they couldn't tackle, dissect and solve.

Bulma avidly watched the waves of liquid mercury that sloshed independently against the sides of the glass jar, a living, thriving organism striving to break free.

Once again she had outdone herself. She had been presented with a problem and she had solved it in record time. Admittedly, she had asked for her father's help, not because she couldn't figure it out on her own, but because time was of the essence. The situation between her and Vegeta was becoming unbearable, a fact that was brought home to her the night of her welcome back party.

As soon as she walked into Capsule Corporation her world had been flipped upside down. Kept in relative seclusion with only Vegeta as her companion she was overwhelmed by the bombardment of well-wishers eager to see her return. Employees, business partners and associates streamed through her living room as she sat sandwiched between her parents.

Her dad had hugged her so hard when he laid eyes on her that her feet had actually left the ground. She suffered a brief surge of panic, and struggled to be put down before the frail, older man injured himself with the strain. The last thing she wanted was for her father to drop dead of a heart attack on the day of her return. He let her go only when her mother had pried her out of his arms. Before releasing her, he had kissed her on the brow, making no effort to hide the tears that flowed down his narrow cheeks. He turned away, swiping his eyes with his forearm before scurrying off to make several phone calls.

Her mother hugged and kissed her in the same flurry of emotion. The only difference was that her mother refused to release her hand for the entire night. Her fear was obvious to all, by the pinched set of her usually smiling mouth, that her daughter would be swept away from her at any moment. Bulma's fingers were still bruised from her mother's steely grip.

It wasn't until her mind was numb from the seemingly endless procession of people she barely knew that she realized how empty her life had been. How utterly shallow.

Yes, she had two parents that adored her, but she knew their initial shock of her abduction and homecoming would wear off, and like always she would be left to her own devices while they became absorbed in their own lives. Besides she was an adult now, her parents could do nothing to fill the great big, gapping hole in her social life---or was it her heart?

The well-wishers that passed her by had no real affection for her. Their livelihoods depended on her good will, whether it be for a paycheck, a business loan or picking up the tab at the bar. Her only true friends stood at the fringes, a boy whose young life she was barely involved in, a bald monk who preferred solitude on a nearly desert island than being trapped in a room with her for more than a half and hour, and a childhood boyfriend who had stopped listening to her dreams the moment he discovered she had breasts.

As she looked around, she felt such a sense of despair that it seemed to swallow her up from the inside out. The room closed in on her, the air became heavy and coarse until it felt like rocks in her lungs. How had she survived so long without a friend to turn to? A confidant to tell her secrets to? Someone to listen and never judge? As she scanned the room, looking for someone, anyone to turn to lightening flashed from behind the panel of bay windows, echoing her agonizing thoughts of loneliness. Darkness had grown deep outside, and a storm moved in from the west, drenching everything with hard beats of cleansing rain.

For a split second she saw a shadow, darker than the rest, and far more menacing than the night itself. If she was a heroine in a horror film she would have leapt up from the couch with a terror-filled scream ripping from her throat. Instead, she had felt such a sense of pervasive calm that the raw edges of her senses were instantly soothed. She knew without a doubt what she had to do.

Vegeta was an ass, especially lately. He could be spitefully cruel, cutting to the bone when the occasion called for it, but for all his faults he had always been there for her. When she spoke he gave her the attention she deserved. He stood by her and witnessed her worse moments, his face impassive, his eyes non-judgmental. And when she needed someone to hold out their hand it had been him with his crude, calculating words that had led her out of the darkness of her own despair, and showed her that she wasn't the monster she thought she was.

She was a different person now. She had dark secrets hidden away in her heart, things that could never be whispered to another soul. She was a murderer, a sinner. She was unforgivable. How could she hope to share her life with a partner when her past was shadowed with such evil? How could ask anyone to love her? Vegeta was the only person in the universe who knew exactly what she had become. Not only that, he was quite possibly the only person who wouldn't judge her for it. In fact, he didn't even seem to believe she had something to be forgiven for.

When the blinding flash of lightening faded, Bulma girded herself, mentally refreshed for the next round. She smiled her way through the night, knowing at the crack of dawn she would be in her lab, repairing her only true friendship she had. Now, days later she looked at the sliver mercury band aid that would heal Vegeta's tail, and hopefully their relationship.

Bulma rose swiftly from her desk spilling the remainder of her seventh frilly pink can of some energy drink that claimed to be specially designed for women on her lab coat. Hastily she brushed it off with a nearby piece of crumpled paper, belatedly noticing the numerous other stains littering her jacket. She glanced up, momentarily taking in her disastrous work station. It looked like a level five tornado had hit it. Papers were strewn everywhere, empty drink cans were overturned, and empty candy wrappers had fallen on the floor.

She quickly checked her appearance in one of the many mirrors in her lab, shocked at what she saw. She looked worse than barfed up cat fur. Her hair was straggling haphazardly down her back and around her hollowed cheeks. The rest of her features were pinched and pale, with deep, dark circles around her red-rimmed eyes.

There was no way she could see Vegeta looking like death wormed over, nor could she bring him back to her lab while it was so messy. She brushed her hands over her clothes, checking her work space for anything she may have forgotten before hurrying out the door. She bumped into Asuka on the way out and asked her to clean up her work station.

Her assistant had been overwhelmingly happy at her return; claiming that Bulma's bravery had saved her life, but her excitement had quickly mellowed at the manic work pace her boss demanded since day one. Asuka thought Bulma should take some time of to enjoy the fact that she was back home, but the driven scientist had barely paused for meals in her pursuit of some unnamed goal, and she made sure that everyone in her lab kept the same pace as she.

Bulma hurried up to the main house, bursting into the kitchen in time to see her mother overseeing preparations for lunch. Although it had been less than a week since their return, Vegeta's demands on the household had already taken their toll. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were prepared as if feeding ten people and that did not include snacks. He had insisted on setting the _Isis_ down in the front yard and that it immediately be retrofitted with a gravity room so he may begin training for the day a threat appeared, or Goku returned, whichever happened first.

By training everyday, he increased his demands for food, which tripled her mother's work load. Not that her mother minded. Bunny Briefs seemed to be completely in her element orchestrating seven course meals three times a day, and overseeing the remodeling of a suit of rooms for Vegeta to live in.

Bulma had been stunned that her parents had taken to Vegeta so quickly. She figured that there would be a great deal of resentment towards him for kidnapping her, from both her parents and her friends, but it seemed only Yamcha had a problem with Vegeta. Initially her father had protested Vegeta's stay, but that had quickly dissolved after her mother had taken her aside to have a rare and surprisingly coherent talk.

Her mother sat her down and gave her such a piercing look that Bulma was almost concerned that it wasn't her mother she was speaking to but someone else entirely. If something similar hadn't happened twice in the past, once when she started dating Yamcha and secondly when her favorite dog died, she would be wondering if it wasn't a horrible case of body snatchers.

Very calmly her mother had asked her about the entire story. Never able to lie to her, Bulma admitted the whole horrid tale from beginning to end. She omitted the few things she couldn't form into words. Her guilt was still too deep about blowing up Cold's ship and murdering all those solders for her to actually speak of it out loud. But her mother wasn't listening for sounds of guilt or remorse. She was looking for strains of fear, of rejection, she was listening intently for the melody of love, and she must have heard it in Bulma's voice, because since that first night she had welcomed Vegeta into her home like a favored son-in-law.

Bunny Briefs may not have always been the best mother. She could be vain, and self-absorbed. Her family sometimes took a back seat to her charity works for PETA and various homeless organizations, but she was nothing if not loyal. If her daughter wanted something, she got it, and if happened to be that she wanted a bad-tempered, somewhat maniacal, dethroned prince, then by Kami, she would have him. Who was she to say otherwise?

Bulma paused at the door, watching the hustle and bustle for a moment, before a brilliant idea struck her. Only two things made the distant Saiyan remotely approachable, especially lately; food and sex. Since it was unlikely she could entice him with the later at this time of day, food would have to do. She hurried over to her mother to whisper to her in a conspiring tone, before scurrying from the room.

Upstairs she took a shower, exfoliated with mango-scented scrub, blow-dried her hair so smooth that the aqua tips licked their way across her creamy back. She dressed in a backless, kerchief top and a scandalously short, jean skirt, completing the outfit with toe-less high heels that even made her feet look sexy. She glanced in the mirror, smiling as the pasty, banshee hag vanished, and a gorgeous model of female beauty appeared. She slicked some gloss on her lips to make them look impossibly shiny and absolutely edible, and skipped from the room, her spirits higher than they had been in weeks.

Returning to the kitchen she was just in time to see a procession of servants leaving with mounds of silver-lidded trays as they headed towards her lab. She kissed her mama on the cheek, ignored her knowing smirk, and pranced after the servants, eagerness lighting up her sapphire eyes. As expected, (because timing is everything) Vegeta was leaving his gravity room on his way to dine as the parade of food passed before him. Bulma caught his eye, an easy thing to do with a bright red blouse with the spangled words, Pet Me, scribbled across her breasts, and motioned that he should follow. He hesitated briefly, but the allure of food and female overrode his natural suspicion.

Once in the lab, the servants quickly pulled together enough tables for the food to placed, covering the desks with fine, snowy linens and silver candlesticks. Food, plate ware, crystal goblets, and even several bouquets of lilies were arranged in record time, leaving Vegeta to think about the efficiency of some boot camps he had trained in. As the servants left, leaving Bulma and Vegeta alone, she motioned to the head of the mishmash table, indicating he should sit and eat.

Vegeta sat warily, eyeing her with suspicion. It was unlike him to be concerned with any other matters besides eating when a banquet of food was laid before him, but her behavior was disconcerting to say the least. During the entire production, she never said a word, not even to get him into the room. Instead he had followed of his own volition, and now he was uncertain if was because of her or the food.

With the arrogance of a true prince, he shrugged it off, deciding instead to turn his full attention to his meal. Bulma watched him as he ate, awed by his mastery of his surroundings. To a stranger it would seem as though he was casually enjoying a meal, his spine straight, his head held high. Everything about him screamed royalty from the firm way he planted his feet on the ground, to the haughty tilt of his chin. But Bulma saw beyond that façade to the predatorial warrior beneath. The subtle nuances of his body language, the way his forearm curled around his plate to ward off thieves, and how he scanned the room with dark, piercing eyes, told the story of a man who was waiting for an attack. Not merely expecting, or loosely prepared for, but knowing with absolute certainty that there would be an attack and it would undoubtedly come at his back.

Bulma had learned to move with calm, measured actions with in the same room with Vegeta. She always made her movements obvious, and was sure never to hide her hands from his sight. Not because she feared Vegeta, but because if she did, the heavy weight of his assessing gaze would bear down on her like a millstone, pressing the air from her body, leaving her quivering anxiously.

Normally, when he gazed at her it felt like he set her world on fire, burning her up with the heat of his need, but lately the only look she received from him was his cold, assessing glance. It was as though he was waiting for her to attack from behind, and he was determining what her fate should be when she did.

Bulma dropped her eyes to the scratched metal surface of the table, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. In the metallic gleam she could see a vague shadow of herself, a dark splotch on the expanse of brightness. That was how she felt at the moment, like her world was alight with bright possibility, but she was a mere stain of herself, bumbling through life, looking for the one thing that could make her shine. Looking for Vegeta.

She cleared her throat, glancing up from beneath the veil of her lashes to glance at the uncompromising Prince at the head of the table. He was nearly through with his third dessert course and it was now or never if she was to speak.

"As you well know, I am a super-genius."

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw Vegeta roll his eyes at her remark which only drove her to prove her point. She sat forward in her chair, her face intense while Vegeta pretended to ignore her as he ate.

"This should have been obvious when I single-handedly broke into King Cold's ship's computer. Not only that, but I learned to read and write the universal language, and cracked the programming code. That alone makes me a genius, but that's not why I'm a super-genius."

She paused for effect and Vegeta's eyes slid to the side so he could glance at her. He couldn't help but notice how she radiated pure joy as she spoke. Her skin practically glowed with it. If he was capable of infatuation she would the cause. Most of the time he was unable to follow the streams of outrageous self-propaganda, examples of her vast intellect that flowed from her lips, but that wasn't the reason he tolerated her endless verbal vomit.

It was the look on her face. The way her blue eyes darkened to the color of twilight as she spoke, almost if she could see passed the mortal veils of the world and into a dimension where the impossible was possible. She would miraculously reach into that dimension, and pull out the most outlandish theories, making them into reality, like a rabbit from a magician's hat. Watching her was like watching history in the making and when she spoke he found himself incapable of turning away. Most people listened to her rattle on, their eyes glazing over, fidgeting to get free, but he was always completely and totally enraptured.

Lately, she hadn't been glowing for him. Her usually vivacious personality had dulled under the strain of the past few weeks. He knew that he personally had a lot to do with that. He had yet to get over his anger at her for cutting away his tail, and he was unable to mask his fury he felt at her betrayal. Years of hiding his emotions from everyone around him should have prepared him, but she was the one person that he was incapable of hiding from. It frustrated and disgusted him, but he was unable to change it. What made the situation worse was that he didn't know if he would ever forgive her, if it was even possible for him to do so.

However, that wasn't her only reason for her lackluster existence. Since the destruction of Cold's ship, she had been distant. Her own actions had wounded her in a way that he could not heal, even if he knew how. She thought herself to be irreversibly damaged, something that should be thrown away in the trash instead of burdening herself on humanity. When he looked at her, he still saw the same innocent woman he first met, perhaps a little more battle-hardened, and a whole hell of a lot stronger, but definitely still uncorrupted. She saw herself as a murderous monster. But he knew better. He was the only monster in the room.

"So when I was nosing around in the science logs I noticed that Doctor Seville from the planet Neptram, whoever he his, was trying to experiment with nanotechnology."

Vegeta snapped back from his thoughts, realizing that Bulma would only be talking this animatedly to him because the subject somehow involved him. He grunted at her, barely acknowledging that she was speaking, knowing that would only serve to annoy her and add an exasperated flush to her cheeks. He continued to eat, covertly paying close attention to what she was saying.

"Of course, his theories are completely off-base. He'll never get them to work, but it got me to thinking. Instead of micro robots, they should be microorganisms. You know, like tiny cyborgs. See, he wanted nanites to go in and repair damaged cells, but the host body either rejected them or the repairs were incompletely. Then I though, 'DUH!'"

She stood up quickly, forgetting about moving cautiously while around Vegeta. He tensed, but didn't move as Bulma paced around the room, once again underscoring the vast differences between them. Every action Vegeta took was precise and controlled, with no wasted energy, while Bulma was a flurry of motion, hands, mouth and feet always going.

"The answer was DNA encoded cyber nanites. Not only can the little guys go in and repair damage, but also replace missing genetic material as well. Kinda like a bioorganic band aide."

She whirled around to face him, practically effervescing with excitement.

"Aren't I a genius, Vegeta?"

It occurred to him, that the reason Bulma always announced her genius so proudly was because she was really looking for validation. He suspected that her lack of self-confidence and her over-developed bravado had something to do with her numbskull parents. After all, if someone had abducted his one and only baby girl, and then had the audacity to bring her back, he would skin the bastard and stuff his left over gizzard with hay to use as a punching bag. But her parents seemed perfectly accepting of him, which only made the skin between his shoulder blades itch with distrust.

He resisted the urge to smile in reassurance at her, and instead stared at her stonily, waiting impatiently for her to finish. Her smile dimmed and something panged briefly in his chest that felt suspiciously like regret. Before his eyes she turned from giddy to subdued, the corners of her perfect bow-shaped mouth pulling down into a frown.

"Don't you see, Vegeta? This means I can fix your tail."


	33. Wrath

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with DBZ. The Lullaby incorporated is from the CD Oyasumi by Aiko Shimada, voice by Elizabeth Falconer. The name of the song is Aiko's Lullaby. I used the English translation in the story, but for those who are interested I put the original Japanese version at the end of the chapter. Many thanks to Wolfie from DBZ Salon for the wonderful translation. Thanks to LisaB for her beta skills.

A/N: As a side note, this is not the way this chapter was supposed to unfold. I recently reread my story to locate any loose ends that I needed to tie up, and I suddenly became irrationally angry at Bulma and her behavior. Is it possible to get angry at a fictional character? No matter. What's worse, I think I'm even angrier at Vegeta, especially now. Hmm, perhaps I should just go pick a fight with my husband….wanders off aimlessly

Chapter Thirty-Three

Wrath

The silence that fell over the room was deafening—thick and choking, like poisonous gas. The stillness was so intense it seemed as though the air itself had stopped moving, as if all the protons and electrons had skid to a dead stop and dropped to the floor, filling the room.

Then deep inside the stillness was movement. Slowly it seeped out into a ring of malice, until waves of anger reinforced it, swamping the stagnant room. Bulma tried to breath, but the pure menace stole streams of oxygen from her lungs. She tried to speak, but the thickness of the air paralyzed her body. Time elapsed; eternity sped by; only her heartbeat kept rhythm with indeterminable seconds.

As suddenly as the stillness had descended, it erupted. An explosion of movement left her gasping for long denied air, adrenaline spiking her heart rate until her pulse pounded in her ears.

Vegeta shot up from his chair, sweeping his arm wide to clear the dishes from the table. Delicate china hit the cold cement floor, shards of white bone splintering off in all directions, some ricocheting with near deadly accuracy for vulnerable parts of her human body. She tried to protect her eyes, but he was upon her before she could move.

His fingers wrapped around her biceps, his skin burning hot and searing her to the bone. She tried to scream, but the sound was ripped away as he whipped her around, lifting her up off the ground until the backs of her legs hit the ledge of the table. He stepped into her, bending her back until her elbows were braced on the newly stained white linen.

"Why did you do it?"

The anger that ravaged his face was nothing compared to the stark rawness of his words. Though they were softly spoken, they were filled with such cruelty that she was relieved that words couldn't do physical harm. If they had been daggers they would have sliced clean through her.

Bulma's eyes welled up with the sorrow that had been plaguing her since they left King Cold's ship. How many times would she have to apologize before Vegeta forgave her, before he believed her? What else could she do to make amends?

"I did it for you. I can't stand that I've hurt you. I would have never cut it off in the first place, but I didn't have a choice. I'm so sor---"

Her apology was choked off at Vegeta's expression. She had never seen someone so angry in her life. The vein at his temple distended and throbbed, his face turning ruddy with barely suppressed rage. The tip of his tongue peeked out from between his teeth, and she was struck the sudden fascinating fear that he was going to bite it off in a fit.

She didn't have time to contemplate the gruesome possibility of having a severed tongue in her lap before Vegeta began to shake her in the manner of a frustrated dog with a half-chewed rag doll.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he spat with such venom that Bulma was stunned. "Have I ever given you any indication that I'm a total fucking moron?"

He stopped shaking her long enough for her to stutter a shocked, barely formed reply. The negative had barely passed over her lips before he began shaking her again. A dull, thudding ache blossomed at the center of her skull radiating out behind her eyeballs as the world rattled by her. She latched her small hands onto his forearms, attempting to anchor herself in the storm of his wrath. She felt his fingers tighten around her biceps, bruising her nearly to the bone, but at her unspoken plea he ceased shaking her, settling for barking words into her blanched face.

"Do you think because you are such a fucking _genius_ that I can't grasp the simplest of concepts? Do you really think that poorly of me, Bulma? Damn, it must be such a god-damn trial even speaking in my general direction!"

"N-no! No, Vegeta I don't think that about you at all. In fact, you are the only person who has ever listened to me. I think---"

"Shut up! I can't stand your whining, putrid voice. It's like razors across my brain. Don't you ever shut up?" As abruptly as he had grabbed her, he pushed her away, spinning a half-step until his back was to her. She watched, open-mouthed, as he thrust his fingers into his hair in a rare, mind-boggling display of utter frustration that made her feel completely out of her element. She had no idea how to respond to this Vegeta, to this man who was displaying such raw, open emotion that it practically seeped into the cement floors and steel walls.

He swung back towards her, his hard mask partially in place, but she could see the ragged edges of his pain undulating beneath, the agony that burned in his black, glassy eyes as he glared dangerously down at her.

"I know why you took my tail, Bulma. Freiza pinned you into a corner you made for yourself, and you had no way out. I can blame you for how you got there, but not for what you did. If it hadn't been you then it would have been someone else, and then my tail would be rotting in a dung heap somewhere instead of floating in some sort of viscous muck waiting to be reattached. I never doubted that you could fix your fuck up, but that's not what I asked you, now is it?"

Bulma opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. She had no idea how to respond. If he understood why had she cut off his tail, why had he been punishing her for all these months with his cold, distant attitude? If he knew that she had done it under duress, then _why_ was he so angry? Had she been apologizing for the wrong thing all this time? How could she have done something so heinous that Vegeta was unable to forgive her and not know what it was? What had she done?

"I don't understand, Vegeta? I—what did I do?"

She barely had time to spit out the words before he leapt on her, pushing her back onto the table. The heat of his body radiated off him, reminding her of a nuclear reactor-- unstable, unstoppable, and deadly from the inside out.

"Why did you leave me that night?"

"What?" Bulma could feel the air leave her body in a rush. Of all the things he could have said to her that was not what she had expected. The blood rushed from her already pale skin, leaving her feeling light-headed at the loss.

"With, Zarbon. Why did you do it?"

If she lived to be a hundred, Bulma would never have expected to see such agonizing emotion in Vegeta's eyes, and she doubted she would see it again if she lived a hundred more. Vegeta's suffering was a once in a life time event, it would never come again, nor she suspected, had anyone before her witnessed such a thing. She had a front row seat to one of the worst occurrences in Vegeta's existence, and to know that she was the cause of it shattered her very soul.

"I told you. I wanted to save you." She stuttered her explanation, completely unable to fathom how this event was the one that had made him so unreasonably angry. She thought his wrath with her all this time had been over his tail. She had been wrong. A deep sense of betrayal been born on the night she walked out on him with Zarbon at her side.

"Save me? You? What ever gave you the idea that I needed saving? And how did you arrive at the conclusion that you had the _right _to do anything of the sort?" His hand slashed so close to her face in frustration that he nearly struck her.

"Zarbon seemed so much stronger than you. More powerful---" Too late she realized how condemning her words were. By uttering those few syllables she had done the unforgivable---she had stolen his pride from him, rendering him nearly impotent as a warrior.

Vegeta glared at the distraught woman as if she were a bug waiting to be crushed under his heel. His all-consuming anger at her was barely contained beneath a tattered veil of self-control. In his entire existence he had never given a thought to how other people perceived him. He was the Prince of Vegeta-sei, the last heir to a dead race, the living face of their pride and strength. All that had ever mattered was that he comport himself in a manner that would have made his people proud, and to hell with everyone else.

But with Bulma it was different. Somehow, somewhere, her opinion of him had started to matter. He had allowed her to believe that he had let the poisonous trader live because he couldn't face the shadowed condemnation in her eyes. Her estimation of him mattered. Her thoughts for him mattered. Her feelings mattered. And in the end, the truth was that she had no faith in him as a man or a warrior. She had no trust in him or his ability to protect himself, much less her.

She dared to sacrifice herself for him, belittling him with her every action. Even if a fight with Zarbon would have meant his death, she had no right to steal that away from him. She had no right to place herself in danger because she had some misplaced sense of responsibility to him. She treated him with such deep and abiding disrespect that he could barely stomach her presence. And that wasn't even her worst crime against him.

"So you sacrificed yourself to him, like some sort of self-righteous martyr. Well, aren't you so much better than everyone else in the universe? You're damn-near angelic, aren't you? How hard it must be to down here with the rest of us mere mortals as we muck through life."

Bulma opened her mouth to speak, but Vegeta cut her off, his fury uncontained, the words spilling from his mouth before he could check them with his pride.

"You always behave like you're better than everyone else. That your _soul_ is more valuable," Vegeta spat the word with derision, clearly not believing or caring for the concept of spiritual immortality as she did.

"Now look at you. Walking around like some sort of brainless zombie. Whining over the littlest thing, begging for forgiveness that you don't even believe that you deserve. You have no sense of self-preservation, no sense of honor. Instead, you punish everyone around you---you punish _me_ for the loss of something you probably never had---your pathetic, imaginary soul."

There was the true root of his anger. The center of it all. The responsibility she made him feel for her fall from grace. To protect him, to save him, she had murdered a man in cold blood---touched her lips to his, and watched him die at her feet. She walked away from his protection, side by side with a man who could have easily tore her apart limb from limb, raping her mercilessly as she screamed for absolution, all because she didn't think he was strong enough to fend for himself. She had blown apart hundreds, littering a small corner of the universe with chunks burned flesh to save him from torture and imprisonment, all in the name of her _LOVE_ for him.

And then she _dared_ to come to him and ask for his _forgiveness._

This was not the woman he had first met, the woman that had enticed him with the curve of her red lips, and the scent of her blood. That woman had faced him down in the war zone of her lab and convinced him to spare her world, her friends, and her life, if only for a while. That woman had been brave, passionately wild, and nearly untamable. She had been a goddess of self conviction and confidence, but this woman who stood before him was nothing but a soulless, mewling weakling, a mere shadow of herself.

Worse, even in her current state, she was still undeniably attractive to him. Even now he wanted her, needed her---craved her. For two years he had sworn to kill her nearly every day, a dark promise made to her in the heat of his passion, but now, even after all her betrayals, he couldn't bring himself to raise a hand to her. She had gelded him with the knife of her emotions, making him helpless to her will.

"I'm not trying to punish you, Vegeta. Truly, I'm not. I can't help the way I feel, this emptiness that is inside of me. I'm sorry…"

"Shut up!" If she apologized to him one more time in the same sickly, sappy voice she used every second of the day, he swore to all that was unholy he would blow her entire, worthless mud ball of a planet apart and leave her to weep for the dead.

He advanced on her, and she cowered down at his feet. For the first time, she was truly afraid. His rage was overpowering, swamping her with dread. He glared down at her, sneering at her shaking form, his anger becoming deeper and darker with every tremble of her body.

"Because of you, I am caged by your side---forced to protect a world that I would rather see blown apart. On my honor, by the blood of my family I have no choice but to live day in and day out in another form of slavery, because you bid it so. Because no matter how much I loathe you, I'm still bound to you. Every stinking, filthy word from your lips is my gospel, because I can't turn my back on you. At times, I think that if I can tear the skin from my body that I might be free of you, but I know it not to be true. Only you can release me, and you'll never do so."

Bulma looked up at Vegeta with eyes so wide and blue that the entire world could fall into them and become lost. With a distant sense of awe she listened to Vegeta's words, felt the pain that reverberated inside her with every growled syllable. The hole where her soul used to be began to fill up with the deepest, bone-rending agony imaginable.

She never realized that Vegeta felt so strongly about her. She knew that he was angry at her, that he quite possibly didn't love her, but that he hated her with such all-consuming conviction never occurred to her. The fact that he felt chained to her side, enslaved by his promise to her, broke what remained of her wilting heart. She would never knowingly inflict that kind of emotional torture on Vegeta. She would never willingly hurt him.

"I'm sor---," she stopped herself before she could say the words that would only further condemn her in his eyes. She tried to draw herself up, to find the person that she had once been before the beginning of this travesty, but that woman that had disappeared, leaving behind a terrified, tearful woman.

Outside, she was a leather-clad, gun-toting, female crusader, but in Vegeta's presence she became something else entirely. Somehow she had managed to lose a piece of herself back on King Cold's ship. She was so concerned with salvaging her relationship with Vegeta, with winning him back, that she had lost sight of the very thing that she took pride in being---a confident, capable woman.

She cleared her throat, steadying her nerves. Deep inside the woman she had been was still elusive, but she strove to imitate her---to become what she once was, if only for this one moment when it was so important.

"Then I release you. Allow me to repair the damage that I have done to you, then you may go to find your own way in life."

She had thought that his terrible words had been the worse agony of her life, but freeing Vegeta from his oath was far more painful. It felt as if she were ripping a piece of herself away. She couldn't imagine the agony being any worse if she had torn her heart out of her chest herself.

Vegeta stared down at her, making her feel smaller than she actually was. She struggled to stand, to breathe substance into her frail body so he might see her as a human being instead of the object of his loathing. With pride she had long forgotten, she walked away from him towards her laboratory, pausing when he didn't follow. She turned back towards him, resisting the urge to reach out her hand to him.

"Please, Vegeta. Let me heal you."

His full lips tightened, and she knew once more that she had said something wrong. She sighed, the exhaustion of just living weighing on her.

"This changes nothing between us. All of your attempts to make it right will not heal this," he waved his hand at her, obviously at a loss for words, "this thing that we have."

"I know, but it will go a long way towards healing me."

He shook his head briefly as if he were disagreeing with her, or maybe he was disagreeing with himself. He stalked towards her, every smooth line of his body full of menace. They moved together, walking towards her laboratory.

Without being told, Vegeta stripped off his clothes and lay back on the cold, stainless steel table. For a moment, Bulma felt a frisson of hope. For no one else would Vegeta ever lie back and allow them free reign to his unprotected body. For all of his hatred of her, he trusted her to heal him, to make him whole once again. No amount of anger could ever take that away, and for the little time they had left together she would make sure that she did nothing to betray his trust in her.

She urged him onto his side, sealing his already thawed tail to his spine with some temporary bioorganic gel. She couldn't resist the urge to brush her fingers along the swell of his hip, but the stiffening of his body quickly warned her away. Closing her eyes in remorse, she turned to pick up the jar of silver liquid.

"This will hurt." She wanted to tell him that it would be okay for him to cry out, that she would tell no one if he voiced his pain, but she knew that he would never do so. No matter the agony, he would endure it silently. His warrior pride would allow nothing less.

Slowly she poured the nanites over his wound until they spread like a mercury blanket down his tail, and up his lower back. Instantly Vegeta became rigid, his muscles bulging in response to the intense pain she knew that he must be feeling. A slight sheen of sweat broke out over his body, polishing his bronze skin to a glistening shine under the sterile white lights.

Knowing it would take hours for the nanites to complete their meticulous work, Bulma took a seat near Vegeta's head. She felt helpless that she was unable to alleviate Vegeta's agony, and heartbroken that he wouldn't allow her to comfort him as she desired. Shivers began to wrack his body, and she watched as he screwed his eyes tightly shut, taking the pain of the reattachment of his nerves stoically.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she gave way her longings to comfort him, and began to croon the words to a nearly forgotten lullaby that her mother used to sing to her. Almost mindlessly, her fingers sought out Vegeta's thick hair, combing though the inky strands soothingly.

_The children on the tropical islands_

_Drawn by the mother night sky_

_Go to see the stars_

_Don't cry, don't cry_

_Look up_

_And see the starry sky_

_Scary things and worrisome things_

_All disappear_

_The light from thousands of years ago_

_Closing the small door_

_I cried until it hurt _

_After I saw the_

_Endless universe_

_My tears stopped_

_Don't cry, don't cry_

_Look up_

_And see the starry sky_

Bulma was struck by how sad the song was, how it reminded her of Vegeta. Did he ever look up into the sky, to the pinprick of starlight that was his home and long for the comfort of his mother's arms, or the reassurance of his father's shadow? Did he ever look up into the night and dream away the scary things that haunted his supposedly non-existent soul?

How she ached for him, agonized for him. Helpless tears began to slip down her cheeks, falling onto the cold steel of his table. She wished that she could take all his pain and suffering away, that she could repair so much more than his injured tail. She wanted to reach beyond the armor of his pride and heal the wounds of his heart and soul, to repair his broken psyche. He deserved so much more out of life than just the remnants of his people's honor.

Somewhere, deep inside, a small part of her cried that she deserved much more as well. She deserved more than his cruelty and derision, but she pushed the thought away, instead centering her thoughts on the wrongs that she had perpetrated against the man she loved.

"Please forgive me," she whispered, but only silence and his pained, labored breathing was her answer.

A/N

Original Japanese Version

Minamino shimanisumu nakijakuru kodomotachiwa

Yoruhahani tsurerarete

Hoshio miniyuku

Nakunayo, nakunayo

Mitegoran

Kono hosizora wo

Kowaimonomo nayamimo

Kieteyuku

Nanzennenmo maeno hikari

Chiisaitoki doao shime

Kurushiihodo naitakedo

Hatenonai kono uchuo

Mita atowa

Namidamo tomatta


	34. Dread

Disclaimer: DBZ was created by **Akira Toriyama.** I don't own DBZ, nor will I ever.

A/N: I know this is deplorably short, but have no fear I am already working on the next chapter, and I can promise the wait won't be as long as the last one. My humblest apologies. For those of you that have noticed my defection to Supernatural fanfiction, all that I can say in my own defense is that Dean Winchester is just so damn---flesh and blood male!

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dread

Sound was the first thing to penetrate Bulma's consciousness. It dug down deep into the darkness, pulling her from sleep. She could hear the gardeners tending the lawn beneath her window, the birds protesting their intrusion with a flurry of twitters, and her mother moving around in the kitchen below.

The second sense to awaken was smell. The clean fresh scent of the fabric softener used on her sheets, last night's perfume on her skin, fresh brewed coffee from downstairs.

Sensation came next, lifting her to another level of wakefulness. The feel of Egyptian cotton sheets, her Chinese silk nightgown, the warm morning sun on her face.

All were heralds of consciousness. Guide stones out of the dark abyss of sleep and into awareness. Another day meant more brilliant breakthroughs, more mind-bending challenges. Afternoons filled with shopping and evenings dancing with friends.

Life was an adventure, broken only by the biological need to sleep. Bulma loved life, and all the excitement it brought. She sprang out of bed daily, ready for her next adventure before she was even fully dressed.

This morning was different though. As she rose through the levels of awareness, dread began to permeate every bone in her body, an overwhelming sense of despair. Instead of heralds, her senses became banshees, screeching at her to return to the depths of darkness and unawareness.

Banshees, the harbingers of death.

She awoke, her eyes still closed, her senses aware. A new sensation filtered in. _Loss. Emptiness_. The knowledge that something vital was missing from her life.

Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking at the bright sunlight. She pushed back the coverlet and pulled herself unsteadily from bed. A weight she never felt before pressed down on her, a certainty of what she would find outside her bedroom window. Sadness welled up inside of her, filling her heart until it felt like it was too bogged down to beat.

She staggered to her window, pulling back the half open, slotted blinds. Down on the vast lawn she could see a crew of gardeners mowing the grass, a profusion of colorful flowers sprawling in front of the house, and birds flitted through the stand of white birches at the far edge.

What she did not see was _Isis_, her spaceship, docked on the lawn since her and Vegeta's return a few weeks ago. The sensation of dread was from the unconscious knowledge that Vegeta had abandoned her. She must have heard the engines last night when she was sleeping, only to realize the truth when she awoke.

Vegeta was gone. Freed from his oath to protect Earth, he had escaped the first chance he got, stealing her ship. She didn't mind the theft; she would have gladly given it to him. The only thing she would have asked in return was a goodbye. But he had deemed her unworthy even of that.

All the emotion welling up inside her, all the dread, the fear, the loneliness, all of her heartbreak, burst through her chest. It stole the air from her lungs, the blood from her skin.

Now she knew of what death the banshees were shrieking---the death of her heart.

Tears flowed down her cheeks in rivers. Horrendous choking sounds crawled up her tight throat, worming their way out until she could no longer hold them back. Sobs tore their way free, so loud that they drowned out the roar of the mowers.

Bulma sunk to the floor before the window, forgetting to release the blinds from her white-knuckled grip and pulling them askew. She huddled her body against the cool plaster wall, her arms wrapped around her ribs to keep them from bursting apart from the force of her sobs.

Her bedroom door banged open, and through her tears, Bulma could see her mother dressed in her frilly, pink robe, a pancake-gooped, wooden spoon raised high in defense of her baby. Seeing that no one was attacking her child, she dropped the spoon and rushed to her daughter's side, wrapping her arms around her in consolation.

No questions were asked; only hushed, soothing sounds and small kisses rained down on Bulma's head.

"He left me, Mama." The words were choked out around sobs. The only thing she could say before the ability to speak dissolved completely.

Bunny's arms tightened, and the motherly mantra continued. No comment was needed, no explanation required. There was only one "He".

Lost in their bubble of sorrow the women didn't hear the shouts from below, but the crashing of the bedroom door made them both jump. Mrs. Briefs bolted upright, placing herself between her daughter and two clean-cut men in black suits. They both wielded handguns and showed no hesitation at pointing them at the women.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Briefs shrieked arms akimbo. Gone was the usually ditzy socialite and in her place was a ferocious mother.

"Bulma Briefs, you are under arrest," one of the square-jawed men stated. They circled around Mrs. Briefs, easily fending off her flailing. One man pulled Bulma to her feet while the other cuffed her hands behind her back. Too shocked to protest, she numbly stumbled forward when they pushed her towards the door.

"Who are you, and what are you charging my daughter with?"

"That's classified, ma'am," the second man retorted, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

"This is absurd. Do you know who we are? We are the Briefs!" Mrs. Briefs pulled herself up to her full height, puffing out like a rooster in a hen yard.

"It's a matter of national security, ma'am. Now step aside."

They shouldered her aside and hustled Bulma down the stairs and out the door. They pushed her into a black sedan, Mrs. Briefs behind them screaming that her daughter was being kidnapped.

The men ignored her and left her standing in her rumpled, frilly robe in the middle of the drive as their back tires pelted her with rocks. Bulma twisted around to see her mother chasing after them, fading into dust.

The dread in her gut intensified, but the fear was gone. The loss of Vegeta had numbed her soul. There was nothing these men could take from her that he hadn't already stolen.


	35. Torture Me

A/N: I know that I said in the last chapter that this installment would be out much quicker than usual, and I'm sorry that I wasn't able to live up to that promise. I actually finished this chapter weeks ago, but Lisa, my beta, threw it back at me. So you can blame her for the delay. And you know what? She was right. The chapter I wrote was completely and totally wrong. This isn't a light, fluffy, silver-lined cloud love story. It's a dark romance filled with obsession and possession. Love can be both wonderful and terrible, and everything in between. So instead of blaming Lisa you can thank her for this chapter, because without her it wouldn't exist. She squashes my natural tendency to write about rainbows and unicorns, and I'm better writer for it. Thanks so much Lisa.

**Warning**: Some sexual content, but not explicit….much.

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Torture me

Vegeta padded through the shadows of the sex club, his entire body radiating barely contained aggression. He never enjoyed coming to these places. They were loud, smelled of too much sex, and there was always someone trying to touch him. On occasion he had been forced to come, knowing that if Radditz and Nappa were left without supervision he would likely spend the rest of his life paying for the damage they would wreck while drunk. But he had never indulged, not once.

The beat of drums slid around his testicles before slithering up his spine to spike him in the back of his brain. He could feel the vibrations in the floor, thrumming through his heels all the way up to his eyeballs. The marrow of his bones reverberated until it felt like his blood was pulsing in time with the music. All around him creatures writhed and twisted. Some danced to the music, others to the rhythm created by their partner's mouths and fingers.

It had been days since he last ate and even longer since he slept. He was always moving from place to place, traveling from one star base to the next. He didn't want to slow down. He didn't want to stop. Stopping meant _thinking_, and thinking meant remembering.

Lights began to strobe from the ceiling, freezing the people around him in ridiculous positions before the shadows rearranged them. He glanced down, catching sight of blood streaked on the back of his hand. He frowned at it for a second, but then the shadows drowned him in darkness again. Absently, he wiped his hand down his thigh, cleaning the stain from his knuckles, before he winded his way through the crowd, careful not to brush against anyone if he could avoid it.

He was almost to the bar where a vibrant rainbow of humanoids lined up waiting for their drinks when he saw a flash of blue hair from across the floor. Instantly he knew that it was the wrong shade. It was too deep, almost oceanic in color, not the light teal that he was used to. What his brain knew and what his body knew were two different things though. He felt his penis swell until it nudged his lower stomach insistently. He hadn't tasted a woman, hadn't smelled one, since he had left . . . _her_.

Smoothly he changed direction, his blatant aggression turning predatory as he stalked through the crowd. Males backed away, shielding their females behind them. Women cast him looks filled with fear and longing. He ignored them all. His eyes were only for his target.

The flash of blue disappeared in the undulating crowd, and Vegeta let out a low growl of discontent. The dancers around him stepped back, abandoning him in a loose, empty circle in the center of the floor. The flash of blue appeared again at the base of the stairs at the far end of the room, behind the live band that was drumming wildly. This time he could see the delicate curve of the woman's back below the sleek curls of blue, revealed by a red, silk gown. The dip of her spine looked familiar, and Vegeta's fingers curled with longing at his sides.

She turned to glance at him, and his expression narrowed. Her eyes weren't the deep blue that he had spent hours staring into. They were green, almost jade. They were pretty, but wrong. She met his gaze from across the floor, and her lashes dipped before her chin motioned subtly to the top of the stairs. She turned away, sashaying slowly up the steps.

Vegeta's erection hardened, his blood already in rhythm with the drums began pulsing insistently from the base of his cock all the way to the throbbing tip. His testicles hung heavy on the insides of his thighs, and he had to fight the urge to cup himself. He glanced back the way he came, but he was already moving forward.

A purple-skinned man stepped in his way, and Vegeta snarled in warning, his hand shooting out. The man quickly dodged away, fear and instinct making him fast enough to avoid disaster. The lights began flashing again, and Vegeta saw more rust-colored streaks on the back of his hand. They started at his fingertips and crawled up his knuckles. His dark brows lowered as he rubbed his hand against his chest.

The woman was at the top of the stairs now, and she looked back, beckoning him. He saw that she was too tall, almost equal to him in height. His upper lip curled in disdain as his foot landed on the first step. He climbed the stairs in record time, but she was already receding down the hall. At the top of the stairs a burly man stood to the side, unobtrusive at the moment, but that would change if Vegeta tried to pass.

The man held out one hand, palm up, while a second set of heavily muscular arms remained crossed over his stomach. Vegeta glanced at the outstretched hand, disgust curdling his stomach. Ahead of him, he could see the woman waiting at bend of the hall, one hand braced on the corner while she looked over her shoulder at him. The expression in her green eyes was unreadable, her face bland with mild acceptance. Now in the fully lit hall, without the strobbing to distract him, he could see that her pale skin had a bluish cast to it, as if she had been left out in the snow to long. He wondered if she would be cold to the touch.

Still watching the woman he dropped some credits in the bouncer's outstretched hand. Business conducted, the woman disappeared around the corner and Vegeta followed. As he rounded the bend, he saw her disappear into a room, the door left wide in invitation for him to follow. He glanced around the room as he entered, unimpressed by its barren appearance. It had only a bed, made up of red sheets with no duvet. For easy clean up between customers, he was sure. Next to the bed was a nightstand, a goodie basket atop of it. Vegeta had no desire to look through the small bottles and jars stuffed inside. In the corner was a single standing lamp, the only illumination in the room. The woman stood beside it, her face a mild mask of complacency.

"Would you like the light off or on?"

As she spoke, Vegeta felt shards of ice wiggle around in his brain. Her voice was too contrived. It was meant to be soft and alluring, a temptation of sound just like her body was supposed to be a temptation of sight. It had no highs or lows. No outrage or sincerity. It was a puppet's voice.

When he didn't answer, the woman shrugged and left the light on. She moved to stand in front of him, already unzipping her dress. The silk cloth slithered down her body, pooling at her hips before sliding down to her feet. Vegeta watched its descent, his passionless eyes absorbing her dark blue nipples, narrow waist and pelt of navy fur.

Her body was perfect. Her delicate waist flared out into hips that were wide enough for a man to grab onto. Her breasts would fill his hands, and were undoubtedly sweet to the taste. She had been crafted from a wet dream to be as beautiful as possible. She was completely wrong.

His hand whipped up so fast that it was a blur, his fingers wrapping around her hair. Her hair was thick and heavy, not the usual silky softness he was used too. The woman gasped, but remained unmoving as he wrenched her head to the side to look at her nape hidden by her hair. At her hair line was a series of numbers tattooed into her skin.

"You're a clone," Vegeta accused, but the woman didn't blink at his tone. She couldn't. She was incapable of feeling fear.

"Of course." Her sing-song voice was breathless with sexuality. She reached out, tugging on the hem of his shirt, trying to undress him. He stepped back, spinning on his heel so he could face the door.

A clone was a hybrid created in a lab. They were grown to specification in mere hours and were usually sent to work where others had no desire to go, like mines or the sex trade. Easy enough when DNA manipulation could make them hardy for treacherous terrain or so beautiful that men would want to fuck them for a price.

They weren't sentient. _Not really_.

Vegeta glanced down at his curled fists. The blood was still there, streaking his hands. It was crusted in the ridges of his knuckles and was wet between his fingers. He thought he had washed it off before alighting from his ship, but he must have forgotten.

He had stopped at one of Frieza's outposts before coming here. Yet another in a long line that he had visited in the last weeks. They had welcomed him, same as the others. It seemed that Vegeta was the highest ranking officer left in Frieza's army, the rest having been destroyed on Cold's ship when it had blown up.

They expected him to take command, but they had been wrong. He killed them all. He kept killing them over and over, but there were always more of them, like cockroaches streaming up from the sewer. So many soldiers just like him that had refused to rise up against Frieza when he was alive and they had nowhere to go now that he was dead. Vegeta told himself that he was doing them a favor, putting them out of their misery. They were useless relics of an age that had passed. Certainly, that couldn't be a sin. _Could it?_

Frieza was gone. Vegeta's reason for living was gone. There was no one left to fight.

The woman was pressed up behind him, her clever hands dipping beneath his waistband to find his heavy erection. He jolted when her fingertips brushed his hot flesh. He twisted in her arms, his black eyes staring her down as he backed her towards the bed. She fell backwards and he followed her, wedging his body between her pale thighs so she was helplessly trapped beneath him.

"Fight me," he demanded, his eyes glowing with hellfire.

"Fight you?" Her voice wavered slightly, but not from fear, from confusion. The word fight was not in her vocabulary. She had no reference to it. There was only submission.

"Call me an asshole. A bastard. A _bad man!_" Vegeta's voice was rough, his hands rougher as he gripped her hips. She bucked against him--a siren's call, not a protest.

Her eyes clouded, unable to understand his request. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to coax him down for a kiss, but he refused. Her lips were painted cherry-red, but they were too flat almost thin. They weren't full and pouty. They didn't curl up at the corners. Bulma's always curled up, even when she was screaming at him. It was like at any moment she was going to break out into a smile. This woman's lips wouldn't be delicious like Bulma's.

Vegeta remembered the first time he became fascinated with Bulma's lips. It was while he was still a captive in her lab, and she was working so hard to create a new cell for him. She finally did, but when she tried to drug him into unconsciousness for the move she had gravely miscalculated the dose. He had awoken, stoned out of his mind, his focus on only two things--her lips and her neck.

He hadn't known if he wanted to kiss her or choke her to death. She was the witch that was torturing him with captivity, teasing him with her beauty, bewitching him with her wit. During those early days all he wanted to do was fuck her to death. Literally. He wanted to spread her white thighs wide, thrust himself into her while choking the life out of her. He wanted to kiss her cherry lips until he tasted the sweet, salty flavor of blood on his tongue.

He had stolen her away with that in mind. He wanted to fuck her, make her his then he was going to kill her. Punish her. Destroy her like she destroyed him. Even when he held her life in his hands she had screamed at him, made petulant demands. She had always looked him in the eye, fearless and proud. Even when his hands were wrapped around her dainty neck.

What had changed he wondered? When had he become so fundamentally different? Why did he feel so fucking irrational when she wasn't around? Why had she stopped fighting him?

Through the haze of his memories he realized that the room was flashing red and yellow lights, and a low buzz was vibrating around him. He heard shouting in the distance, and the room was filled with people, but no one was approaching him. Fear swelled it the room and he glanced to the side, seeing the bouncer from the stairs against the wall.

"I am _so_ not touching him. Are you kidding me? He'll blow the whole place up." Vegeta heard a man say behind him, and his brows drew together into a fierce frown.

The bouncer, seeing that Vegeta was now looking at him, held all four of his hands out complacently.

"If you want to kill her, that's fine. We offer that service, but it will cost you extra." The man's voice only shook a little when he spoke, and the other voices in the room stilled at his words. Vegeta glanced over his shoulder, and he could see three other large men filling the room, and some smaller feminine faces peering in from the hallway. He realized now that the low buzzing he was hearing was a warning siren.

He glanced down at the woman beneath him, shocked to see that her skin had gone ice blue. Her green eyes were wide and reddening at the edges where blood vessels were bursting, but they still weren't filled with fear. All Vegeta could see was acceptance. His eyes shifted lower, and he saw his hands wrapped tightly around her slender neck. Dark bruises were blooming beneath his fingers. His hands were soaked with blood now. It was bright and shiny, freshly spilt. He scanned the woman beneath him, expecting to see wounds, but there was nothing.

Her hands weren't even wrapped around his wrists, but instead they were lying at her sides, calming waiting for the end. When he had tried to choke Bulma she fought so hard that her small kittenish nails had actually broken the skin on the backs of his hands. Bulma would never wait passively to die, even now that her soul was dead and all was left behind was a puppet. She would struggle to the very end, because deep down Bulma was a fighter.

He wondered if this would count as murder in Bulma's mind. After all, the creature beneath him wasn't even sentient. It didn't have a soul—_did it? _He didn't have a soul---_did he?_

He released his grip, and shot up from the bed so fast that the males in the room heaved backwards a step. He didn't glance at them as he spun on his heel, stalking towards the door. They made a hole for him as he exited, and without a word he left the club behind to return to his ship.

He stomped onto the _Isis's_ bridge, pissed beyond belief. He had been running the ship hard in the last weeks since he had stolen it. It wasn't on the cusp of a break down, but it wasn't running nearly as smoothly as it would if Bulma were there. That woman could coax a rust bucket to give her a hundred and ten percent. If Vegeta didn't know better, he would think that she had the ability to speak telepathically with machines.

From the communications console he heard a beep, and he stilled so suddenly that the air around him vibrated with shock. He stared hard at the little yellow flash of light that told him that he had a message waiting for him.

There was only one person who would be calling him. There was only one person who knew how to find him.

Slowly he walked up to the view screen and flicked the button, his body automatically braced for a verbal onslaught. He felt trepidation, fury, and oddly, anticipation swirling in chest. There were other emotions mixed together inside of him that he couldn't name, ones that he didn't want to.

"You bastard!"

The words he expected, the voice he did not. Situated clearly in the view screen was Mrs. Briefs. Her usually perfect make-up was smeared and her blonde hair was tangled around her shoulders. He could see where her eyes were red from crying.

Something terrible exploded in his chest. He almost didn't recognize it, since he hadn't felt such a strong emotion since he was a child, but he was fairly certain that it was fear. Fear that something had happened to Bulma.

"It's all you fault! Men came and took Bulma. They are probably torturing my baby right now, and it's all your fault. If you had never come into our lives. If you had never shown your miserable hide on our planet, we would all be happy right now."

She was screeching at the top of her lungs, her voice tight with panic. Mr. Briefs appeared at the edge of the screen, his skinny arms making an effort to embrace and comfort his wife, but she shook him off. Tears were falling down the older woman's face now, and she used a white handkerchief to wipe them away. She turned away to address her husband, the viewer forgotten.

"I can't do this again. I can't have her taken so soon after we just got her back. Why can't anyone find her?"

Mr. Briefs shushed her, and Vegeta could hear him say that people were looking, but he was already pulling Mrs. Briefs away. The view screen went dark, leaving Vegeta alone on the bridge. He knew that the message had been recorded and sent weeks ago. It would take that long to catch up to him light years away from Earth.

There was a good chance that Bulma had already been found and rescued. She was probably ensconced in her palatial home at that moment, being clucked over by her insane mother and half of the serving staff. There was no reason for him to return to Earth. Even if she was still missing, there still wasn't a reason for him to return. Bulma was no longer his concern. She was nothing to him, but a memory.

She was the past, and he needed to think of the future.

His entire body clenched painfully at the thought, and his shoulders twitched forward as if he had taken a blow to the chest. He spun on his heel, intending to return to his room so he could wash the blood from his hands. As he strode down the corridors, all he could see were shadows and echoes of the past. Everything about the ship reminded him of Bulma.

On instinct he entered the room that they had shared on their journey through space. Since stealing the ship he had avoided the room, knowing that it was nothing more than an emotional morass. His hell-lit eyes darted around the room, taking in the satin sheets that were still crumpled on the floor from where Bulma had left them. She had never been much of a housekeeper. He remembered dozens of times that he had picked up their room while she had been off working on some repair on the ship.

She had teased him that he was a clean freak, and he snarled at her that a soldier couldn't afford to be tripping on crap strewn across the floor if an enemy were to attack. She had laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear that his June Cleaver tendencies were safe with her. He never knew what she meant, but it never mattered because as soon as she was in his arms he would lay her down on the nearest surface, proceed to wrap her entire body around his and wring moans of ecstasy from her perfect curving lips.

He was startled to realize that he couldn't tell what color the sheets were. He could see that they had a tint to them, a shade, but it was muted and dull. It was as if he was seeing them, but not really. The only colors he could see with any vibrancy were the fresh red spill of blood and the aching coolness of blue. He glanced down to his hands, expecting to see blood there, but there was nothing. His hands were clean down to the quick of his nails.

In the past few weeks he had lost his taste for life, his thirst for it. He was breathing, but there was no scent to the air. He was seeing, but there was no color in the world around him. He lived in two places at once. The present where he wandered aimlessly, killing those unlucky enough to cross his path, and the past where his memories haunted him. Mingling with those memories were insidious whispers of how she had broken him, destroyed him.

Before she invaded his life and ruthlessly trapped him in a cage, his existence had been preordained. He had his every step mapped out and planned for the next twenty years--the downfall of Frieza and his armies, the destruction of entire civilizations and his rise to absolute power. One monotonous, monstrous step after another. He had existed in a prison of his own creation, and Frieza was the warden with all the keys. It had been a floating prison of flesh and blood, of metal and glass. It had been hell.

She shattered the bleakness of his life, and introduced him to color. With her the universe was filled with sights, sounds and exotic tastes. The intensity of her vitality zinged through him, electrifying every cell in his body. She had taken his cold, heartless corpse and breathed life into him. She showed him how to feel pain and remorse, fear and sorrow---love and loss. She had brought him to life so she could stomp him out of existence slowly and cruelly.

She was never going to let him go. Not while she was still alive. She was still inside his mind, crawling around, making him remember things better left forgotten. The only scent he could smell was her scent, and it was on everything. The only sound he could hear was her laughter ringing down the halls; everything else was muted. She was everywhere he looked and nowhere at all. She was a ghost in his mind ---a living, breathing spirit that would never stop haunting him until he destroyed her.

He tried to ignore the ominous whispering in his mind---the voices that told him that he would never be free of her. He was still trapped back in the life-sucking cage while she pranced around outside, taunting him with cherry lips and sparkling eyes.

His hand whipped out and a blue ball of ki flew towards the bed that they had shared, setting it ablaze. Her scent was saturated into the sheets, and even the smell of char couldn't dampen the lavender in the air. He crossed the room in a flurry, wrenching open the closet door where most of the clothing she had gathered still hung. He tore them from the hangers, flinging them haphazardly behind him.

Distantly he could hear a low growl of a wounded animal. It sounded close, inside the room with him, but he ignored it. He swept up her shoes from the floor and threw them into the pile. Next he stomped over to her vanity, sweeping cosmetics and brushes off the surface before he smashed the fragile wood to pieces. Somehow she had convinced him to buy her the useless piece of scrap wood so she could make herself prettier for him.

_And she had._ She was so gorgeous that it had hurt his eyes to look at her. He was used to fucking beautiful women. He was a prince. He was a high-ranking soldier in Frieza's army. Women had bowed to him. They had gotten down on their knees and sucked his dick until he came in their mouths. But none of them had looked at him like Bulma had, with such blatant, disgusting, heart-warming adoration. Those women had feared him, but she had loved him.

The growling in the room became louder, sounding more like a strained sob. He kicked everything into the center of the room near the burning pyre of their bed. Red lights flashed, making the room spin sickly.

He heard Bulma's voice, automated and distant, but still filled with more life than the sex clone had ever displayed. She warned him of disaster, reminding him that destruction only breed pain. Her computer-generated voice was a reminder of what didn't exist anymore, what he had lost. It knifed him through the heart, slicing open his innards until it felt like his bowels were spilling out onto the floor.

He plunged his hands into the fire, grasping a handful of flaming sheets. He dragged them to the pile of her clothing, ignoring the fire that licked up his arms and dropped them in the center. Her clothing went up in a whoosh, flaming blue and green and finally red.

The alarms sounded, and he heard a loud click. Water rained down from the ceiling, and black, acrid smoke filled the air. It cascaded over his face, flattening his hair under the intense spray. He opened his mouth to cough, but something lodged in the back of his throat. He lifted his hands to his face, seeing blood pooling in his palms.

The water dampened the blaze, leaving behind a smoldering mass of trash. All that was left of her clothing was some twisted, burnt fabric. He could see a black hunk of plastic that looked like it could have been a shoe. He looked back at his hands coated in vibrant, glistening blood.

He was damned. Soulless. Hell-bound. No one could cause as much mayhem as him and expect to go elsewhere. But just because he was going to Hell didn't mean that he had live through it now. Bulma was torturing him. Her very existence, every breath she took, caused him physical pain. In a moment of weakness he had allowed her to live and in doing so he had damned himself to a hellish existence. He had to rectify his mistake. That was the only way he would be able to continue living. Even though his life was torture, it was still _his._ He had not spent twenty years living through the torment that was Frieza to now be brought low by a simple woman.

There was only one answer to his problem. He had to return to Earth and kill Bulma. Only then would he be free. Only then could he return to the man that he once had been. The monster that he was crafted to be. For the first time in twenty years he allowed himself to hope, ignoring the sick twist in his stomach that the water downed emotion wrought from him.


	36. Dream A Little Dream

Warning: Not too explicit scene of self-gratification. Many props to LisaB for being such a great beta. Thank-you.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Dream A Little Dream

_A swirling blue and white jewel lay nestled in a bed of black velvet. It sparkled with all the hopes and dreams of her people, spanning generations, eschewing borders. It basked in the golden sunlight, gleaming with promise and welcome. It was the most beautiful, precious gem that she had ever seen, and it was his gift to her, untouched by the hand of evil. Earth. Her home._

_Bulma clapped her hands wildly, barely containing the urge to jump up and down like a child at the sight. She glowed with pleasure, the relief of being home briefly wiping away the sadness that had darkened her eyes during the trip home. Vegeta felt something brittle crack inside him, the ice around his heart melted for the barest second. He had never seen someone look so happy, so utterly elated, that their whole soul lit up. _

_She whirled to face him, her smile as bright as the summer sun, her eyes sparkling like pools of crystal water. She launched herself at him, barely giving him time to brace himself for the impact of her lithe body. She snaked her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, crowing with unabashed delight at her homecoming. Instinctively he cupped her bottom, balancing her weight in his arms, while fighting the desire to smile back at her. She was so happy it nearly broke his heart._

"_Home, Vegeta. Finally we're home." She hopped down, skirting around him to race out the door towards her quarters._

_Vegeta watched her go, knowing that she would spend the next half hour sorting through her limited wardrobe to find the perfect outfit to disembark in. As soon as she exited, the room seemed to darken, becoming dismal and vacant. His eyes were hooded in shadows as he turned to look down at the planet._

_He wondered if she __had __meant to insinuate that it was their home, and not just hers. As if he could share in her homecoming, be welcomed by her family, actually feel some form of affection for the planet __on which he__ had only known defeat and imprisonment. Why would he ever refer to such a place as his home? __Be__cause it was where _she_ belonged? __B__ecause it was _her_ home?_

_Vegeta glared at the offending sphere, shimmering so beautifully in its silken robes of mist and sunlight. The sight of it should sicken him, in__cite__ fury in the pit of his stomach So why, he wondered, did he feel such a strange ache in the center of his chest, a burning that formed in his heart and wrapped its way around his ribs and into his lungs? A sense of longing, sadness, and the barest glimmer of need._

Vegeta jerked into consciousness, drenched in sweat. Pale sheets bunched in his lap as he sat up in bed, his bare chest glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. He fought to control his heavy breathing, ignoring the barely perceivable tremors coursing through his body.

A familiar, but monotone voice was advising him that he needed to plot a descent course, and he snapped out an order to hold orbit. After several weeks of non-stop travel, he had finally arrived at the beginning. The place where it had started. Her home.

His journey had been wrought with dreams, memories of his time with Bulma. They tortured him until he forced himself to go days on end without rest to escape them. During his waking hours he trained, performing endless sequences of kata while burying his memories deep into his subconscious. Only when he could no longer stand on his own two feet, would he fall into his bed, far across the ship from the burned rubble of the one that they had shared.

He swept back the sheets, and stood with a barely suppressed moan. His last bout of training had lasted days, and his well-developed muscles protested their overuse. He felt a tightness in his groin and he looked down at his heavy, morning erection. He had stripped down to nothing, before collapsing into bed, too exhausted to even pull on a clean pair of sleeping shorts.

As a warrior, he had long since trained his body to disregard its natural needs, but as he traveled towards Earth and the woman who resided there, he found himself hard with undisciplined lust several times a day. As he grew closer to his destination, his predicament only worsened.

He most commonly dreamed of their endless nights of love-making. They haunted and aroused him.

Vegeta's brow furrowed as he marched across the room to the shower. _Fucking._ What they had done was _fucking,_ not love-making. "Love-making" was Bulma's pansy-ass word, not his. He would do well to remember that, especially since he would be seeing her today, after months of separation. Perhaps he would _fuck_ her first, and then kill her.

He turned on the shower, stepping into the stall before the water could warm. He shuddered as the icy spray pelted him, but his erection remained stiff and aching. The water heated to a tolerable level, and he allowed it to cascade over his body, rinsing away the dried sweat.

He couldn't help but to notice how his resolve to kill Bulma had weakened during his journey. It was almost as if the closer he drew to her, the calmer his spirit became. She was like a drug that he couldn't get enough of---a healing balm to his soul that he craved. The longer he was away from her, the more he physically hurt until he became a rabid, injured beast ready to maul anyone who approached him.

Instinctively, he reached out his psyche, looking for a familiar thread. He nearly recoiled when a bright, blue spark flared to life in his consciousness.

_Bulma._

Bulma was alive, and she was near enough to him that he could sense her, feel her essence. He felt her waver and pulse as her spark weakened. The energy was as familiar to him as his own, and he could tell that she wasn't at full health. She wasn't glowing as brightly as she usually did, she wasn't sparkling like the jewel she was.

He clasped onto the spark and wrapped his mind around it, feeding it his strength. Gradually, it brightened, vibrating in his mind, until it was nearly purring.

Vegeta braced his forearm against the cold, wet tile, dropping his forehead down to rest on his thick wrist. The water beat down on him, and he could feel it slide off his shoulders and along his ribs. It was warm and soothing, wrapping him in a blissful cocoon of steam and silky wetness. Languidly, he wrapped the fingers of his free hand around his cock, trying to ease the throbbing that had flared to life the moment he connected with Bulma.

He slid his palm over his water-slicked erection, trembling as he imagined Bulma kneeling in front of him, trailing her small, white fingers from base to tip. She had loved to look at him, caressing him tenderly before wrapping her red lips around his swollen flesh.

The warmth of her essence slipped inside him, nestling in his chest, and spreading down through his limbs. He pumped his hand faster, his palm twisting over the leaking tip, before stroking back down to the root. He could feel her inside him, retaking her rightful place in the hollow left by his absent soul.

He tried to push her away, to untwine her from his mind, but she was already a part of him. He banished the image of her at his feet, but the memory of it stayed with him as he felt his orgasm build in the lower muscles of his belly. He didn't want this. He didn't need it. He hadn't come back to reconnect to Bulma. He had come to destroy her like she had destroyed him.

Electricity sizzled across his synapses, and the embedded images of his lover flashed to the forefront of his mind. Her head thrown back, her silky blue hair cascading across his bed as her face became drawn with pleasure. A groan wrenched its way up from his chest, echoing around the tiled bathroom as he came in a rush of ecstasy and barely satisfied need.

He panted into the crook of his arm, listening to the harsh rasping breaths, and the pelting water that accompanied them. Absently he watched as ropey threads of semen were washed down the drain along with his self-respect.

Acidic anger rose up in his belly, and he felt his face grow taut with a snarl. Forcefully, he thrust the spark of energy that had invaded his mind away, severing the ties he had with Bulma. As her warmth receded, he was left with a void as cold and empty as the space that he traveled through.

8888

Hours later, Vegeta flew through the night, having docked the ship at Capsule Corporation and immediately taken off to track Bulma. As a skilled warrior he had the ability to pinpoint the ki of anyone he had met. As a territorial male he had the ability to taste his woman's essence in the wind.

He landed outside what was very obviously a military installation that sprawled inside an electric fence crowned with barb wire. At the center was a four story building, which was heavily guarded. The walls gleamed sheet-metal gray with only a few windows on the upper floors.

He had a pretty fair idea what was going on. Bulma had given refuge to the enemy. Military men had died inside her laboratory, and he had escaped. More than likely, Capsule Corp. had been under constant surveillance since they had left more than two years ago. Once Bulma reappeared, the military had taken steps to retrieve what they thought to be an enemy to the government. The fact that she was hidden in such a desolate installation high in the mountains outside her country's borders told him that her kidnapping wasn't sanctioned by her government leaders. More than likely this was a personal vendetta perpetrated by the leader of this facility or it was a black operation. Her kidnapping might not be sanctioned, but it might not be a secret either and those in charge had turned their heads and pled ignorance. Both scenarios worked to Vegeta's advantage. He wasn't dealing with an agency, but a man, and a man could be intimidated.

Once he killed Bulma he had to be sure that her family would not continue to be hounded. He owed her that much, he reasoned. She had released him from his vow to protect this world once she had realized how badly the sworn slavery made him suffer, even at the potential cost of her family. Everything she had done, she had done for them---imprisoning him the first time, sacrificing her own personal safety to get him away from Earth, entering into a deadly bargain with him to ensure their protection.

Once she loved, Bulma was loyal to the bitter end. Even her false betrayal with Zarbon had been contrived in an effort to keep him safe. He physically shook his body, like a soaked hound, banishing his dark thoughts as they headed towards dangerous, emotional eddies that he didn't want to contemplate.

Instead he focused on the task on hand. He needed to ward off the dogs of war one way or another. They weren't really after Bulma after all. He was their true target. What they failed to realize was that he wasn't obtainable. He wasn't about to trade himself for Bulma like they undoubtedly believed. There was no reason to. He could easily wipe anyone who dared to fuck with him from existence. The problem was that they had forgotten that and it was Vegeta's job to remind them.

He waited until it was dark, smirking appreciatively at the sliver of the moon high in the sky. Flood lights drenched the interior of the compound, looking for intruders on the ground, never dreaming that the enemy would come from the dark, midnight sky. A single light glowed from a corner office on the top floor of the tallest building, a beacon in the night.

Vegeta landed soundlessly on the window ledge, a dark shadow peering in. A large man sat grimly behind a mahogany desk. His blonde hair was cut with military precision, and his starched white shirt was crisp and clean. His jacket was slung over a nearby chair and Vegeta could tell that he wasn't comfortable in his clothing or in his setting. He was a man of action, a warrior of the battle field who had been regulated to desk duty because age had dulled his skills, but not his mind. Now he lent his expertise to younger soldiers, resenting them for their vitality while his waned with every passing year.

He slid open the window, stalking in the shadows of the room. A breeze blew in behind him, ruffling the papers on the man's desk. The soldier was quick for his age, leaping to his feet, his sidearm already drawn. Seeing nothing at the window, his pale blue eyes scanned the room, immediately lighting on the shadow that was darker than the rest.

The man's eyes narrowed and Vegeta saw his finger tighten over the trigger. Faster than the man could react, he was across the room, ripping the pistol from the soldier's grasp. He crushed it into an unrecognizable hunk of metal, dropping it with a heavy clank onto the man's desk.

Without missing a beat, the soldier stepped back into a defensive stance, opening his mouth to scream for his guards, but Vegeta was faster still. The predatory Saiyan wrapped his strong hand around the weaker man's throat, cutting off his oxygen, holding him aloft until his toes scrapped the plush carpet.

"Don't make me kill more people than I have to. As much as that thought appeals to me, it would solve nothing." His black eyes slid to the desk, reading the brass plaque that announced the man. "Hallows," he said the soldier's name, deliberately leaving out his title of Major General.

He tossed the man away, noticing with a glance that the soldier quickly righted himself before he plowed into the wall. Vegeta pretended disinterest, rummaging through the papers on the desk while Hallows rubbed his throat.

"I'll never tell you where the bitch is. You'll have to kill me." Hallows' voice was hoarse, but he still manage to convey his venomous hatred along with his threat.

Vegeta looked up from the desk, his eyes flashing with deadly menace. His lip curled, and the man could see a flash of ivory teeth in the golden lamplight. Then as quickly as it came, the danger was cloaked beneath of thin veil of acrimony.

"I see that no introductions are in order." A search of the desk revealed no files on Bulma, so Vegeta moved away towards the oak filing cabinet against the opposite wall.

"I know who you are and why you are here, but you'll never find her. We will kill you before you do." Wisely the man stood as far from Vegeta as possible, keeping his hands visible. He made no move to escape, having already come to terms with what he thought to be his inevitable sacrifice.

"First, I know exactly where _Bulma _is." Vegeta glared at Hallows, letting him know without words that the insult he had dealt earlier would not be forgotten. "_Secondly_, I could raze this facility to the ground, killing everyone with barely the effort that it takes to raise my fist." He turned from the cabinet, still empty-handed and stared the man down, allowing his black eyes to freeze into chips of obsidian ice.

"Do you think I would hesitate to kill you and every human here if it suited my purpose?"

"You're a monster, but there is no way you can defeat all of my men," Hallows spat, but Vegeta could see the flicker of doubt in the man's pale eyes.

"How easily you humans forget. My _subordinate _demolished half of your military, just for the sport of it." A slow wicked smile spread across his full lips, but his eyes remained dead and cold.

"How dangerous do you suppose _I _am?" The question was whisper soft, filling the air between them with suffocating promise.

Hallows swallowed hard, the sound heard across the room.

Vegeta shrugged, stepping to a plaque of a shield and a sword that hung on the wall. His wicked grin slipped into an almost affable smile as he pulled it away, revealing a metal safe beneath.

"Tell you what--I'm going to level this entire installation as a reminder of just what I'm capable of, but I'm going to leave you alive. Can you guess why?"

Vegeta reached for the safe, sinking his bare fingers into the thick metal like it was modeling putty and wrenched the door off the hinges. He grimaced at the sharp shriek of rending metal before he tossed the door away, and peered into the dark hole. He pulled out a thick file, reading Bulma's name on the yellow tab. He generated a sharp burst of ki that traveled up his arm and out his finger tips, engulfing the entire file in flame. He tossed it into the wastebasket, standing over the flame as he stared hard at the man who stood frozen on the other side of the fire.

Hallows watched as the orange light from the flames danced over Vegeta's dark face, and he knew at that moment that he was dealing with a demon straight from the pits of hell. He and his colleagues had made a grievous mistake daring to take the woman that the devil called his own.

Slowly he shook his head, eyes wide as he stared at Vegeta, his voice lost in his tight throat.

"I'm letting you live because I want you to make it clear to whoever is in charge that the Briefs family is to be left alone. No harassment, no kidnapping. They better not even have a bad fiscal year. Because if they do I will systematically slaughter every man, woman and child even remotely related to this little butt-fuck conspiracy. Do I make myself clear?"

Hallows nodded, very, very slowly.

"Say the words," Vegeta ordered with deadly softness.

"You've made yourself perfectly clear."

Vegeta smiled, his long incisors shining in the firelight.

"Excellent."

He disappeared out the window he had entered, leaving only the scent of sulfur in his wake.


	37. Reconciliation

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: DBZ was created by **Akira Toriyama.** I don't own DBZ, nor will I ever.

Thanks to LisaB who pushed and prodded until this chapter was perfect.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Reconciliation

Bulma stood facing a blank metal wall in an interrogation room. There were no windows, but she wasn't surprised. The air was damp and cool, and she guessed that they were far underground. She had no real concept of time, but she knew that it was in the middle of the night. They only allowed her an hour or so of sleep at a time, a tactic intended keep her on edge and vulnerable.

For the first time in weeks she felt refreshed. In the darkness of her cell she thought she had a vision of Vegeta standing over her naked, yet foreboding in a way that sent a thrill down her spine. The sensation had been so intense that desire coursed through her veins, heating her cold body from the inside out.

When she had opened her eyes to find herself abandoned and alone, she knew the truth. Her imagination was playing malicious tricks on her. She was slowly, but surely going insane. She had been a prisoner in this facility for weeks, shuttled between her small cell and this room where her captors droned on with endless questions. At first she had been outraged, but that had passed. As the weeks progressed she had gone from outraged to apathetic, then lethargic, and now she barely roused herself when they hustled her out of her cell for another session.

For a while she had meditated on the irony of it. After all, there she was, a prisoner, kept in a tiny cell for months on end, no respite except for her interrogations. She had tried to be smug and cocky like Vegeta would be, but she didn't have the energy or the practice to maintain the façade.

As she waited, she wondered if this session would be any different than the previous ones. They wanted information on Vegeta---who he was, what he was, where he had came from. How to stop him. Of course, she didn't answer them. She insulted their intelligence---told them to figure it out on their own. She had even tried to reason with them by telling them that Vegeta was gone. He would never return, and was no longer a threat.

And even though she believed that in her heart, that Vegeta was never coming back, and that there was no way that anyone would ever lay a hand on him, she never once answered their questions. She stonewalled, she lied, and eventually she just stopped speaking entirely. Not that she didn't enjoy their little Q & A sessions. After all, she did get bored all alone in her cell day in and day out.

No, what she was really curious about was how long her interrogators were going to allow her to continue the silent treatment. Hounding her wasn't working, and that left one last course of action. She wondered how she would handle it. What it would feel like to have her fingernails pulled out or to have a fist connect with her ribs repeatedly.

Zarbon had tortured her, but it had been relatively brief. She had already been here for months. More than likely, she would be here for many more. No one was coming to rescue her. The men who had captured her weren't going to release her. How long, she mused would she be able to withstand the torture before she cracked? How long would it be before they killed her?

She wondered all these things with a sense of detachment. She almost welcomed the change in her routine the torture would bring. The pain would give her something to think about long after they dumped her alone and shivering into her cell. It would give her something to _do._

She ignored the small fissure of anger and betrayal that spiraled down her spine at the insult she had been dealt by Vegeta. He had threatened---no, he had _promised_ so many times to kill her that she had accepted it as a fundamental truth. She had spent nearly two years completely dependent on him for her very survival. His ownership of her in exchange for his protection seemed natural. Now he was gone, and he had left her in the hands of monsters, unprotected, and uncared for.

That anger was nestled down in the pit of her stomach. She carried it in her like a deformed fetus created by a monstrous union. A union that she could not sever no matter how hard she tried. She was cleaved to Vegeta so completely, so irrationally, that even her rational mind knew it to be sick.

She was so deeply immersed in her thoughts that she almost didn't hear the commotion outside the door in the hallway. She was jerked into reality by the clatter of gunfire and shouted orders. Screams reverberated down the hall, and a loud crash shook the walls. She turned to face the door, a cold sense of certainty settling in her bones.

There was only one man in the universe that could invoke such utter chaos. Only one man who thought the words "rescue" and "kill" were synonymous.

The coldness in her bones gave way to a slow burn. It started in the marrow of her wrists, and she clenched her fists in response. It coursed through her veins, burning like acid in the pit of her stomach, heating her body, turning her vision red.

She turned away from the door, back to the cool, blank wall. She was at the far end of a long metal table, as far from the door as she could get. She braced her hips against the edge, folding her arms across her chest. She wasn't afraid of the commotion outside, though she should be. She was too angry--too hurt. She tried to piece her wavering image together in the mirror-shine of the metallic wall, but all she could see were smears of red. She folded her arms tighter, hunching her shoulders forward until her chin nearly touched her chest.

Behind her the door to the room flew open, and the sound of gunfire intensified. She could hear a man give the order to draw a perimeter and over the din a shout for backup echoed down the hall. The door slammed shut, sealing out the chaos, but not the danger. She could feel the room swell with it. The walls expanded, nearly bursting apart at the bolted seams as the larger than life aura of the man who had stepped inside with her filled the room.

Briefly she closed her eyes, but the backs of her lids held no respite from the crimson haze that coated her vision. A shudder ran through her body, but she wrestled it under control with iron will. She was not going to fold. She was not going to crack.

"Come to rescue me?" Her voice was shocking even to her. She hadn't meant to speak, but the words slipped out, velvet smooth and deceptively soft.

"Seems that's all I do."

He glared at the back of Bulma's head, annoyed that she was slumped against a metal table that sat lengthwise between them instead of leaping happily into his arms.

"You haven't cornered the market. I seem to remember doing the same for you."

Vegeta stiffened, a familiar sneer forming on his lips.

"I didn't ask you to," he spat.

"I don't seem to recall asking you to either." Bulma's tone was still smooth and even. There were no hysterical highs or moody lows. They could be discussing the weather for all the inflection she conveyed.

Vegeta's face hardened into a contemptuous mask. He felt anger pierce his chest, and he took a moment to savor the sweet sharpness of it. For so many weeks he had been empty and barren inside, but as he had marched through the corridors, eliminating threats as they came, he had felt a shimmer of what he could only describe as anticipation.

After so long, he was going to see Bulma again. He was going to see her face light up, and her eyes shine. He was going to be the recipient of one of her blinding smiles that banished darkness in the dead of night.

Instead what he got was apathy. Derision. Disrespect. She didn't even bother to turn and face him, the self-righteous, egotistical bitch!

"I came here thinking that I should kill you, but now I know you aren't worth the effort. You're pathetic and disgusting. I should leave you here to be raped and tortured until you are nothing more than a shivering mass of blood and puss on the cement." He turned on his heel, his face thunderous as he wondered if ripping apart every single soul in the installation would make him feel even a little bit better.

"You bastard." The hissed words were barely discernable over the din in the hallway, but Vegeta heard them. He always heard every single word out of her mouth, even when he didn't want to.

"What did you say to me?" He turned his head to look at her, black eyes veiled by shadowy lashes. He was angry, deep-down bone angry, but he was also aware of the fission of excitement that skittered down his spine. The puppet that he had left behind would never spit hateful words at him, but the woman he had fucked endlessly in the far-reaches of space would have.

Bulma whipped around with a wordless scream that pierced his sensitive ears, her face twisted into rage. Vegeta watched stunned as the small four foot three woman wrapped her hands around the corner of the steel table, tipping it over on its side.

"I'm sick of you treating me like shit! Like I don't deserve any respect. I saved you. I did everything you ever asked of me." She crossed the room to him in quick strides, and he whirled to face her head on. She jabbed her small finger into his chest, emphasizing her words with sharp pokes.

He swiped her hand away, towering over her. She allowed him to bat her hand away, but in its wake she flung out her other arm, her jagged, broken nails, tearing bloody grooves down his cheek.

He flinched back, surprised at her attack. He never raised his ki when he was in the room with her, never dreaming that she could actually harm him. He let out an enraged growl and drove her back against the steel leg of the table. His thick fingers were wrapped around her throat and he tried to intimate her into backing down, but she bravely held her ground. There was no fear in her eyes only rage.

"You went behind my back," he seethed. "I didn't need saving."

Both her hands came up, and she shoved him hard. She thrust against him with so much force that if he had resisted she would have injured her wrists. He took a step back to compensate, not giving way to her, but matching her step for step.

"Oh, fucking well, Vegeta! That's what people do when they care for someone. You're just going to have to get over it, because I'm not going to be your whipping dog anymore."

"I never asked you to be. I never asked you to be a weak sniveling brat. You did that all on your own."

He circled around her in an unconscious desire to stalk her---to make her into his prey. She matched him, her blue eyes locked with his.

"You're absolutely right. I made a decision and I have to live with the consequences. And you know what?"

"What?" he bellowed out, breathing heavily through his nose.

"I'm fine with that. I'm fine with murdering Zarbon and all those soldiers. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I would do it to save you, no matter how much it hurts you to be rescued by little, pathetic me. But I won't have you treat me like this anymore. As if I'm worthless. Like I should be punished. I'm the only one who gets to punish me, and I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm not going to punish myself, and I'm not going to allow anyone else to do it either. You are just going to have to get over it, Vegeta. All of it. Zarbon, your tail, the explosion. All of it! Do you hear me?"

She screamed the last, flushed and out of breath. Her pupils were blown, leaving a thin line of blue on the outer edges. Her lips were parted as she dragged in breath, and her entire body was shuddering with her emotions.

Never in his life, had Vegeta seen anything so beautiful as the emergence of his woman from her self-imposed cocoon of regret. He wanted to _smile. __He wanted to stretch his lips in_ a great, big genuine smile of relief, but it wasn't in his nature, so instead he growled at her.

"Fine…I'm over it." He slashed his hand between them as if severing an invisible tie that linked them to the painful past.

She blinked at him, swaying a bit as if his answer knocked her off balance. She felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and she could feel the energy that had been snapping around them fizzle and die. She quickly recovered and glared at him.

"Great!" she snapped agreeably, unable to form any other reply in the face of his effortless concession to her ultimatum.

"Get ready to breach," filtered in from outside the door, and Vegeta reacted on instinct. He grabbed up the steel table with one hand, flinging it into the door. A blast of flickering blue ki followed quickly behind it, melting the metal over the doorway in an impromptu barrier.

"I'm speaking to my woman right now," he shouted through the door, seriously offended that they had attempted to interrupt them.

Bulma watched the door with unfathomable fear, listening to the chatter of men behind it. When Vegeta turned back to look at her, their eyes collided, ice blue meeting hard obsidian.

"Don't you dare leave me here," she whispered through tight lips.

Vegeta cocked an eye at her, his full lips curling up into an arrogant sneer.

"Afraid?"

"No." Her denial was heavy and hard. "I'm feeling pissed. Betrayed. Abandoned."

With every word, Vegeta's mouth straightened until it formed a firm line. Her words struck him hard in the chest, splashing across his heart like an acid burn.

"And you know what else, Vegeta?" A little of her heat returned to her voice, but mostly she sounded exhausted.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm tired. I'm tired of you threatening to kill me every time I turn around. I'm not some scared, mousy scientist that is going to quake in my boots whenever you're feeling pissy. And, frankly, I just don't believe you anymore. We both know now that you're not going to kill me."

"Is that so?" Vegeta growled, his shoulders drawing back imposingly.

She glared back at him, her perfect ruby lips curling up into sneer.

"Yes, that's so. But that's not why I'm _tired._ I'm tired, because you left. You just got up one morning, and left me. I didn't know where you were or if you were coming back."

Bulma closed the distance between them, lifting her small white hand and placing it over his throbbing heart.

"_If_ you are done with me Vegeta, if you no longer want me, then I have to accept that. There is nothing more that I can do or say that is going to make you change your mind. If you want to chase your destiny across the stars then do it, but don't leave me with some desperate hope that someday you _might_ come back. Don't leave me alone and empty, with something fundamental carved out of my soul." Her voice caught and hitched on her breath. Tears formed in her wide eyes, barely kept at bay by sheer force of will. "If you are going to leave, then stay gone. Don't come back."

Vegeta stepped away from her so fast that he displaced the air in the room. Her hand was left outstretched between them, and after an eternity of silence she let it fall back to her side, but she refused to break eye contact with him.

His vow to kill her echoed in his mind, along with the hundreds of other voices that hounded him daily. Alone in space those voices had cascaded over him like a tidal wave, crushing him beneath their weight. He had welcomed them in the same way he welcomed a painful wound in battle. The agony kept him sharp and focused even though it drained the strength from his body.

Early on in their twisted relationship Vegeta had recognized that there was something about Bulma's presence that pushed the voices to the fringes of his mind. Being around her made him calmer, clarifying his thoughts and allowing him to make more rational choices. Without her he was prone to violence and destruction, but with her there was always the echo of a questioning voice that reminded him that maybe he shouldn't blow up that building or murder a hapless bystander.

"I know when I'm not wanted." Vegeta stiffly set his shoulders, his implacable, emotionless mask falling into place. He turned away to face the door, his hands fisted angrily at his sides.

Bulma watched him, and something cracked and softened inside of her. This was the man she had befriended in the middle of space. The one she had come to rely on, to trust, and to love.

She wouldn't be able to survive if he left her again. It wasn't normal. It wasn't nice or pretty. It was insane and pathetic, but it was their reality. No one could change that or take it away from them.

She walked up behind him, resting her hand gently in the valley between his shoulders. He stiffened, but didn't move away from her touch.

"Once again, Vegeta, you're not listening to me. I said '_if_ you wanted to leave me.' I don't want you to go, Vegeta. I want _this_," she curled her fingers in his back, scraping her nails down his spine, "whatever _this_ is to work between us. I understand that you'll have to leave sometimes, but give me just a word, a nod, a silent vow that you'll return to me. That's all I need from you. That's all I want. You have to give something. I know it's not in your nature. I know you can't say the words. But I _need_ this from you, Vegeta."

He remained silent, and the room echoed with it. Outside the clatter of frantic movement tried to siege them, but they withstood, remaining in their own world.

"You know what, Vegeta?"

"What?" he asked softly. He turned to face her, his dark eyes boring down into watery ones.

He heard the change in her voice, but he was unprepared for her expression of adoration.

"I love you. There it is. No holds barred. Out on the table. You can return it or not, but that's how I feel and I'm not going to tip toe around it anymore. I. Love. You."

Vegeta shifted his weight. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't disrespect her like that. Not right at this moment, when everything was so raw inside them.

"I can't---"

She held up a hand shushing him.

"I know, Vegeta. But you came back and that says everything. So I want you to know that I'm going to keep saying it, and maybe in twenty years you'll say it back to me."

"I came back to _kill _you." His tone was gruff and unapologetic.

He met and held her eyes, his dark gaze steady. He had beautiful eyes, terrifying eyes. She knew now that she was the only one who could see beyond them into the soul residing beneath. He claimed to be soulless, but he wasn't. She knew because with every breath, every word, he touched her with it. It was feather soft, barely discernable in the light, but it was there, glowing just beneath the surface.

Bulma lifted her chin, and Vegeta recognized the motion. She was baring her throat to him, recognizing him as the alpha male to her bitch. She was daring him, taunting him to do his worse.

"We agreed long ago that my life belonged to you. So take it in any form that you want. Take me dead or alive, but I am yours, Vegeta. Always."

Vegeta dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to comprehend the flood of emotion that was drowning him.

"What makes you think that I'll stilll come back twenty years from now?"

"Say the words. Four little words. Say them to me right now, and you'll never have to say them again. I'll always remember, and I know you keep your word no matter what. So two years or twenty years. I know you may come and go, but you will always return to me." She stepped closer, placing one small hand on his muscled forearm. He looked down at her hand, marveling at how delicate it was compared to his immense strength. Fragile, but unbreakable.

"Why do you think so?"

She stepped closer, edging into his shadow, bringing herself within inches of the beast. She placed her other hand on his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic pounding of his heart that whispered to her that he was just a man.

"Because, you could never break my heart as completely as you did when you left me. You would never do that to me again. Just say the words," she whispered up at him, almost desperately.

Her words weren't a threat, a promise or even an enticement. They just were---the utter and complete conviction that he would never hurt her in that way again. That he would protect her from every threat in the universe, including from himself. If he didn't kill her now, then he would never. This was it, there was no going back. No more threats, no more murderous promises. If he chose to say the words, then he would have to abide by that decision with all his tattered, princely honor.

He stared down at her. Felt the draw and pull of her bottomless eyes, saw the awareness of him strumming in every cell of her body. He felt it because he reciprocated it at the same elemental level. The monster he was wanted to rip out the part of her that had such unfathomable faith in him, but the man inside him was stronger. The man in him wanted this woman forever and always. For him, there could not be any in between.

"I will come back."

Something that had been strung rubber band taut inside of him for years snapped, and there was a great ripping pain in his chest followed by an overwhelming sense of relief.

He lowered his head, keeping their unblinking eyes locked. His mouth brushed over hers, and he felt the familiar electricity arch between them. There was a shift and tug in his chest, the feeling of something locking together and tightening to an unbreakable hold.

He was gentle, so incredibly gentle that his lips could have been butterfly wings over hers. Always in the past she had been the one to give the soft kisses of comfort, of love, while his had always been hungry and demanding. But now he was giving her the love that she needed without words, and for Vegeta that was monumental. He was a man of action. Words to him were a weapon, they could be twisted and turned to suite any occasion, but actions were the measure of a man.

Behind them, a battering ram pounded on the door, but they ignored it, lost in the sensation of each other. Vegeta cupped her face in his palms, eyes still peering into hers. His fingers brushed over her skin, retracing lines that could have never been forgotten. She leaned into him, melding her soft body over his hard one.

The tips of his fingers pressed lightly into the hollows of her jaw and her mouth parted as his tongue licked her lower lip. Her breath feathered out, as her body trembled at the sparks of awareness that shot through her, originating from where their mouths met. Tentatively she flicked the tip of her tongue against his, nearly staggering under the tidal wave of sensation her simple action wrought.

Vegeta pressed into her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to explore every velvety inch of her, to ferret out ever secret that lay hidden in her soul. Her eyes drifted shut and her heart beat heavy and full with the love that she felt at that moment.

He devoured her, tasted her, delighted in her. For the first time in months he felt something other than numbness. He felt alive with excitement. Electricity infused the cells in his body, tingling his nerve endings until it felt like he could leap right out of his skin. He wanted to crawl inside of her, to live and breathe her.

Metal shrieked behind them, and he knew that the door was being breached. He flung out his arm, ready to defend them, while refusing to end their kiss. He felt a small hand twine around his arm that was aimed behind him, and she pulled her mouth away, tongue and teeth receding until only their lips were touching. They breathed each other in, panting at the intensity.

"No," she whispered, moving her lips against his, before surrendering to the temptation of his mouth once again.

He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her palms against his chest so no part of her was exposed. He delved his hands into her silky blue hair, holding her in place as he ravished her mouth. He hunched his shoulders around them, hearing the _sheenk_ of bullets being loaded. He pulled her closer, bracing his legs apart, drowning himself into he satin perfection of her mouth.

He didn't feel the first kiss of bullets as they struck his back or the second volley after they reloaded. At the first crack of the guns, Bulma jerked in his arms, but she didn't pull her mouth away, trusting him to take the blunt of the attack---trusting him to deflect the bullets away from her human body. They kissed fervently, standing in the middle of a bullet-riddled, steel room, a melted metal table thrust to the side, a contingent of soldiers shooting at them with deadly accuracy. None of it mattered. Only they existed. Only the sensation of holding each other in their arms.

Finally Bulma had to breathe, and their lips parted. For endless moments they stared into each other's eyes, Bulma glowing up at him while he bestowed upon her a genuine smile that only she was ever privy to.

"Let's go home, Vegeta."

He inhaled deeply, uncertain of the feelings that bloomed in his chest. It was a little bit of happiness, a little bit of loss. Home was still such a foreign concept to him. To him the only image of home that he could bring to mind was _Isis,_ their ship, but maybe he could learn to expand on that. Perhaps, home was anywhere that Bulma was. He braced his forehead against hers, closing his eyes briefly before nodding.

"As it pleases you, bitchess." He breathed into her mouth, kissing her reverently one last time before he gathered her up against his chest. Bulma felt a thrill of homecoming shoot through her. Finally, Vegeta had forgiven her, accepted her back as his lover, his partner---his _bitchess._

He waited for a lull in the gunfire, knowing that they would have to reload. He erected a shield of ki around them. It wouldn't fend off bullets, but it would keep Bulma safe against the rushing air as he moved with preternatural speed, barreling through the soldiers and racing down the corridor.

He burst out through the door leading to the surface, leaving the ground in one leap rising through the air until they hovered far about the facility. Bulma clung to him tightly; terrified that one slip would have her falling to her death. Below them the world was encased in gray, dawn's light having barely pierced the early morning mist. Men raced around in the compound, scrambling for more weapons, most not realizing that Vegeta and Bulma had already escaped.

He reached out one arm, intent on keeping his promise to Hallows to raze the entire facility to the ground. Bulma wiggled around, bravely unwinding one arm from his neck to reach out her hand.

"Don't hurt anyone."

"They need to be taught a lesson or they will continue to hound me." _You. Us._ His words were unspoken but she heard them.

"They are just soldiers obeying orders."

He ground his teeth, and he couldn't stop the shame her words evoked. He had been just a soldier, following the orders of a monster, but that still didn't absolve him of his guilt.

His ki lit up the palm of his hand, and Bulma inhaled quickly. She placed a pacifying hand on his arm, but he shook her off.

"I won't hurt anyone," he growled. She searched his eyes for a moment before wrapping her arm trustingly around his neck again.

He volleyed a few balls of ki down into the compound being sure to hit empty buildings and made a few harmless craters. He was annoyed at the lack of bloodshed, and he took off towards Capsule Corp. faster than he intended to. Bulma struggled against him, and he realized that the whipping wind, even with his ki shield erected was hurting her.

"Vegeta!" she cried out breathlessly.

He stopped abruptly, suppressing the urge to sigh. She huddled into his body, shuddering a little as she pressed her hot face against his throat. Panic shot into his stomach as her body trembled against his.

"Don't." _Don't cry_

She didn't answer, but she didn't start sobbing either. He did sigh in relief then, thankful that he had misinterpreted her body language. Sometimes it was hard for him to remember how delicate she was, how fragile. He realized now that being so far above the world, with nothing between her and the elements would be terrifying. He needed to show her that there was nothing to be afraid of. That he would protect her, even from this.

He tried to pull her away, but she clung to him, her sharp fingernails digging into his shoulders. He tried again, and she shook her head vehemently, while somehow managing to keep her face pressed into the hollow of his throat.

"No, I'll fall."

"I won't let you."

She hesitated. He sounded so sure and strong, so absolute in his conviction that nothing bad could ever happen to her. She wanted to believe him, but they were so high above the ground, and all they could see below them was a swirling blanket of gray mist that only seemed to make the distance that much greater.

"Bulma," he whispered softly, and she couldn't deny him.

She felt the warmth of his ki as it surrounded her, cradling and caressing her body. She allowed him to hold her at arm's length, allowed her toes to dangle in mid air. She locked her eyes with his, refusing to look anywhere but at him.

"We never danced at the ball."

Bulma snorted. It was very unlady-like and not at all becoming of a princess, but it was so completely true. There was no way Vegeta was going to convince her that he could dance.

Vegeta's black eyes narrowed, and where someone else would have seen a threat, Bulma only saw laughter.

"Of course, we wouldn't have, even if we had the chance. There is no way that I would allow myself to put on display like sort of court jester."

She laughed at that, her eyes and face lighting up. She was an arm's length away from him, barely realizing that only their hands were touching. His ki extended out into a bubble around them, holding her in place until it seemed as though she was standing on the air itself.

Without warning he swept he in a full circling, twirling her in mid air. A breathless gasp escaped her constricted throat, and her fingers scrabbled for purchase around his wrist. Her eyes shot towards the ground, and she felt the panic clench her entire body.

"Bulma, look at me," Vegeta ordered, and she obeyed without question. Their eyes collided and locked, and she felt some of the tightness in her chest abate.

"Trust me."

She inhaled sharply at his simply spoken words. Never had she imagined hearing something so profound coming from Vegeta. It had taken nearly three years, but they had finally come full circle in their life. They had grown and changed, twining into each other like trees planted in the same fertile soil.

No longer were they a lab experiment and a scientist, a killer and a victim. No longer were they a prisoner and a kidnapper, a slave and a soldier. They were only Vegeta and Bulma two lovers waltzing in the morning sky.

She released his wrist, trailing her hand away until only their fingertips touched. She threw back her head and laughed, her light blue hair streaming behind her as they twirled through the clouds. They danced until she was breathless, until her cheeks were flushed and her sapphire eyes glittered in the morning sunlight.

"Promise me something."

"Not this again," he groaned, and she chuckled at his discomfort.

"Promise me that we will do this again sometime."

He rolled his eyes, tucking her against his chest, as he made their way back home at a more leisurely pace.

"Maybe…In twenty years."

She jabbed him in the ribs, and he grunted.

"Sooner than that, Vegeta," she demanded with all the petulance of a woman who knows she is loved.

"You are such a spoiled little brat."

"Yah, well, you are arrogant and overbearing."

_And we are perfect for each other._

Finished

A/N: This is it folks. I would say that I might be tempted to do a sequel, but that would be a lie. I'm old and tired, and I think that I'm done with this fandom. I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed throughout the years as this story progressed. I know that it took a long time, but you guys hung in there. I send you my love, and wishes for happy reading.

Thank you so much,

Tempest


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